Ethan stirred from the floor, groaning. Blood ran down the side of his face, but he pushed himself upright with trembling arms. The effort alone was painful to watch.
"They're not the next generation," Ethan said, voice ragged. "They're shackled by your delusions."
Lucas ran to him, dropping beside him and gripping his shoulder. "Don't move. You're hurt."
Ethan shook his head, eyes fierce despite the damage. "Don't let him win."
Lucas didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Because at that moment, the command came.
Freeman didn't speak it aloud. He didn't need to. A flick of his wrist. A glance. And the children responded.
Their bodies moved with uncanny precision, like dancers in a dark ballet. No hesitation. No confusion. Just instinctive unity. Four of them charged.
Lucas stood first, arms wide, stepping in front of Ethan. His heart pounded like a war drum, but his stance was solid. Louie and Evan flanked him instantly, shoulder to shoulder.
