The storms never seemed to stop.

They pressed harder, louder, until the air in the tunnels throbbed with sound.

The mansion above bore the brunt of it—glass shattered, timbers groaned, whole rooms must have been peeling apart under the pressure.

Down here the vibrations rolled like a heartbeat in stone, rattling lantern hooks and making the broth slosh in its pot.

The roar was constant, like standing too close to a freight train that never ended. It shifted in pitch, low to high, splitting and doubling back on itself until it was impossible to tell where one tornado ended and another began.

Sera felt the change in air before she heard it—the tunnels grew heavier, pressing into her chest, tugging at her ears until the pressure made them ache.

Around her, the KAS men shifted uneasily, popping jaws, swallowing against the pressure that refused to balance.

She tilted her head and let the sensation wash through her, curious. Her eyes shone faint in the lantern light.

Zubair’s jaw was tight enough to crack.

He paced two steps and back again, shoulders stiff, his gaze darting upward each time the mansion above screamed against the storm.

His hands flexed at his sides, restless with the need to act against an enemy that couldn’t be fought.

Elias had pressed himself into stillness, but he was not calm. His palm remained against the wall, feeling each vibration, each subtle change in the storm’s rhythm.

His brows were furrowed, mouth set, eyes fixed not on people but on patterns. He was searching for a measure, a way to understand the chaos, and coming up short.

Alexei leaned with his arms folded across his chest, but his smirk didn’t reach his eyes.

He raised his brows once when a particularly sharp crack overhead sent dust sifting down, then muttered something under his breath in the native language of Country S that made Lachlan snort but didn’t ease the tension in the room.

Lachlan himself sat on the edge of a crate, restless energy humming through his leg.

He had tossed the apple core into a bucket, leaned back with his hands behind him, and still couldn’t make it look easy. His eyes cut up every few seconds as though daring the ceiling to drop.

"No way," he muttered. "No one with ears could sleep through that racket."

But they could. And they did.

The cartel men began to settle as naturally as if the storm were nothing more than rain on a roof.

They rolled out blankets from crates, spread mats across the floor, and stacked their boots neatly by the walls.

A few extinguished the extra lanterns, leaving only a handful burning low, turning the bunker golden and dim.

One man stretched out on his back, arms folded over his chest, eyes already closed. Another curled sideways on a rug, cheek pressed into his sleeve.

A pair of younger men dragged benches closer to the wall and stretched out, trading a last quiet laugh before their voices fell silent.

Someone took the pot off the grate, covered it, and stowed it beside the wall without comment, as if saving it for breakfast.

Another man poured one last measure of moonshine, drank it slow, and then lay down with a sigh.

The storm roared like the end of the world.

And they... went to sleep.

Sera blinked, her lips twitching at the corners. Fascination lit her face more than the lanterns did.

Because these men had bent to the chaos so fully that it no longer bent them. Tornadoes tearing above, the mansion howling as glass shattered and walls split—and they treated it like a lullaby. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

She couldn’t look away.

The KAS team noticed too.

Elias’s head turned slightly, his gaze fixed on the sight of three men already breathing slow and steady as children.

Zubair’s pacing stopped, his expression hardening as he watched a man actually smile in his sleep.

Lachlan gave a short, incredulous laugh that had no humor in it.

Alexei muttered, "Sweet dreams, da?" under his breath, shaking his head.

But none of them lay down.

The air pressure gnawed at their ears, the storm above rattled every nerve, the groans of timbers made it sound as though the mansion would fold in on itself at any second.

Every instinct they had told them this was not a place for sleep.

Yet the cartel snored softly within minutes.

One man even turned onto his stomach, dragging a thin blanket over his head as if to muffle the storm.

The lantern light threw his silhouette against the wall—ordinary, human, peaceful. The contrast was absurd.

Lachlan muttered, "They’re mad. All of them."

Elias didn’t answer. He was still listening to the wall, measuring tremors like they might reveal a secret. Zubair finally stopped pacing but didn’t unclench his jaw. Alexei found himself staring at a man humming under his breath while folding his coat into a pillow.

Sera tilted her head again, eyes bright. The sound, the sight, the contrast—it thrilled her. Not because she felt safe, but because it was new.

Because she had never known people could live like this, that men could close their eyes in the face of such violence and make it ordinary.

She liked it.

The storm cracked louder overhead, glass breaking like bones, wind screaming like an animal.

The cartel slept deeper.

Sera’s gaze drifted across them, curious, almost envious. Not of their safety but of their ease.

How many years had it taken for them to surrender to nights like this until fear had burned out of their bones? Or had they been born into it, shaped by storms that didn’t care for human clocks or human dread?

The mansion above howled as if a roof was lifting, and still no one stirred.

Her team looked like soldiers cornered in a war camp. These men looked like farmers bedding down after a long day’s work.

For the first time in a long time, Sera felt something tug in her chest—curiosity blooming into a kind of joy.

The world was stranger, larger, harsher, and softer than she had ever believed.

And here she was, awake in the middle of it, watching men find dreams in the jaws of a storm.

Her lips curved in a small, private smile.

Because to her, the lullaby wasn’t the wind. It was the people around her.