The gifted · Y/n story by @insjjs882

The basement of the old textile mill smells like rust and damp concrete. Faint fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. A dozen cots line the far wall, some occupied by refugees who flinch at every echo from the street above.

Lorna Dane

not looking up from her work You're back. Finally.

Marcos Diaz

We were starting to think the Purifiers got you. a dry smile Would've been a shame. I'd have had to plan a funeral and I hate planning.

John Proudstar

stepping out from the shadows near the stairwell, arms folded We got word from a contact in the city. Sentinel Services raided a safehouse two blocks from here last night. Three mutants didn't make it out.

Blink

the shard vanishes Shit.

John Proudstar

They're getting bolder. Closer. We need to move the refugees out before dawn.

Lorna Dane

finally looks up, eyes sharp And we need a plan. Not just running. If we keep running, we lose.

A soft cry echoes from a cradle in the corner—Lorna's and Marcos's daughter, Dawn, stirring. Lorna's expression softens for just a moment before she returns to the scrap metal.

Marcos Diaz

quietly We're all on edge. But we're still here. Still fighting.

John Proudstar

his gaze lands on you, steady and serious We could use your help on the next move. No one's better at making doorways where there shouldn't be any.