Chapter 511 | We Vote on Monterey

Chapter 511: 511 | We Vote on Monterey

Belle’s hand found my arm, her fingers pressing into the muscle there. "I know you’re scared. Not of dying. You’ve done that twice already. You’re scared of losing us. Of caring too much and having it cost you."

The observation cut deeper than I expected. Belle saw through bullshit like it was her superpower, and she’d apparently decided to use that power on me today.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing." Her hand tightened on my arm. "I just wanted you to know that I see you. The real you. Not the cocky field lead or the charming seducer or whatever mask you’re wearing for everyone else." She met my eyes. "You’re terrified. And you keep going anyway. That’s not selflessness. That’s survival instinct dressed up in noble clothing."

I didn’t have a response to that.

Belle released my arm and stepped back, her tablet coming up like a shield. "Strategy session in thirty minutes. I’ve prepared analysis on the available gate bids. There’s a Tier II opening near San Jose that matches our capabilities."

"Belle."

She paused.

"Thank you."

The words hung between us. Belle’s expression shifted, something softer sliding behind her eyes before she caught it and locked it away.

"Don’t thank me. I’m invested in keeping you alive because your death would devastate the spreadsheet." She turned and walked toward Building C. "Twenty-nine minutes. Don’t be late."

I watched her go, light blue hair swaying with each step, hips moving in that walk she’d perfected for maximum effect. Belle Fox, the gold digger with a heart she pretended not to have. The girl who’d written my coroner’s report and refused to let anyone see her cry.

My phone buzzed again.

Yumi: "Field readings stabilizing. The quad-source resonance is holding better than projected. We need to talk about the implications. Soon."

I stared at the message for a long moment. Yumi’s texts always carried weight, the kind that suggested she knew things she wasn’t saying. The crystal plate in Santa Barbara with its seven rings. The copper-haired scientist who kept dead birds in jars and drove a car named Consequence.

The implications. That was Yumi-speak for "the situation has evolved and you’re not going to like how."

I pocketed my phone and started walking toward Building C.

The conference room was already half-full when I arrived. Jordan had claimed the corner seat that let him watch both the door and the window simultaneously, his tablet open to what looked like a nap schedule disguised as tactical notes. Belle sat at the head of the table with her laptop open and three different spreadsheets visible on the screen. Hikaru occupied a chair near the back, her red eyes tracking everyone who entered.

Naomi caught my attention from across the room. She sat with her staff leaning against her chair, her pink and black hair pulled up in a ponytail that exposed the shell necklace at her throat. When our eyes met, she smiled. Not the shy smile from six weeks ago. Something warmer. Something that belonged to the woman who’d screamed my name on a black sand beach while the impossible golden hour painted her skin.

I smiled back and took the seat beside her.

"You look rested," she said quietly.

"I look like someone who got beat up by four women and enjoyed every second of it."

Her laugh was soft and real. "Belle said you were incorrigible."

"Belle says a lot of things."

The door opened and Misato walked in with Blair two steps behind her. The tension between them was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife, but they moved together with the kind of coordination that only came from hours of drilling. Hate each other’s methods, respect each other’s skills.

Misato’s eyes found mine as she took her position at the front of the room. Her expression stayed professional, captain’s mask firmly in place, but something flickered behind her gaze. A private acknowledgment. A reminder of what we’d shared in the tree line.

I kept my face neutral. Barely.

Blair settled into a chair across from me, her arms crossed and her frost-blue eyes sharp. The temperature in her immediate vicinity dropped a few degrees, which either meant she was annoyed or her control was slipping. Probably both.

"Everyone’s here," Misato said. "Let’s begin."

Belle pulled up the first slide on her laptop, projecting it onto the wall screen. A map of California with gate markers scattered across the surface like acne on a teenager’s face.

"Current gate density is up twelve percent from last month. FGRA is prioritizing Tier III and above, which means Tier II clearances are available for licensed teams with qualifying credentials." Belle highlighted three markers on the map. "These are our viable options. San Jose, estimated entity count of forty. Monterey, estimated count of sixty. And Santa Cruz, estimated count unknown but sensor readings suggest higher than typical for the tier."

"Santa Cruz sounds like a trap," Jordan said without looking up from his tablet.

"It’s flagged as potential Void Gate adjacent." Belle’s voice stayed level. "The readings are unstable. FGRA hasn’t confirmed or denied."

The room went quiet. Void Gate. The words carried weight. The memory of what had happened six weeks ago, when a Tier II had turned out to be something much worse, hung over us like smoke.

"San Jose," Misato said. "That’s the bid we submit."

"Agreed." Blair’s voice was cold. "We don’t need to prove anything by chasing danger. The San Jose gate matches our capabilities and offers reasonable yield for the risk."

I looked between them. Misato and Blair, agreeing on something. The apocalypse was clearly imminent.

"Field assessment?" Misato turned to me.

I leaned back in my chair and considered the map. San Jose. Forty entities. Standard Tier II parameters. The kind of gate we could clear in four hours with minimal injuries.

"It’s too easy."

The room shifted. Naomi’s hand found my knee under the table. Jordan actually looked up from his tablet.

"Explain," Misato said.

"San Jose is a training gate. Entry-level. The kind of thing they send first-year squads to cut their teeth on." I pointed at the map. "We’re not first-years anymore. We have Gold buffs, enhanced abilities, and six weeks of coordination under our belts. If we want guild attention, if we want Aurora’s scouts to see what we can actually do, we need something harder."

Belle’s fingers paused over her keyboard. "You’re suggesting Monterey."

"I’m suggesting we stop playing it safe." I met Misato’s eyes across the room. "The squad’s better than safe. We proved that this morning. Eleven drill passes without a single death."

Misato’s expression didn’t change, but her graft burned lime green in the back of my skull. She was considering it. Weighing the risk against the reward.

Blair leaned forward. "The field lead is right."

Another silence. Blair Davenport, agreeing with me. Twice in one meeting.

"Monterey’s yield is triple San Jose’s," Blair continued. "The entity count is higher, but our formation can handle sixty with the current buff distribution. And if we clear it fast, the guild scouts will notice."

Jordan closed his tablet. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the ice queen and the milk boy have a point."

"We vote," Misato said. "San Jose or Monterey. Raise your hand for Monterey."

Naomi’s hand went up first. Then mine. Then Blair’s. Jordan’s followed with visible reluctance. Belle hesitated, her analytical mind clearly running numbers, before she raised her hand as well.

Hikaru’s red eyes swept the room before her hand lifted. Silent agreement from the woman who rarely agreed with anything.

"Unanimous." Misato nodded once. "We bid on Monterey. Session dismissed."