The underground air was heavy with tension. Dust still lingered from the last battle, settling on the ruins like a burial shroud. But the real weight in the room wasn't the destruction.
It was the truth.
Dexter still hadn't moved. He stood rigid, his fingers curled tightly around Olathros, staring at the space where the glowing notification had been.
> You are now a Reject.
Accept or Decline.
Failure to accept = Death / Erasure from The Story.
He had accepted. He had no choice.
And now… what?
Across from him, Gerald was still hunched over, his breathing uneven. The kid looked pale—shaken—but alive.
Trevor watched them both, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Daemon, however, looked amused. "Well, now that we've all had our little existential crisis, can we move on?"
Dexter exhaled sharply. "Move on to what?"
Trevor finally spoke. "To figuring out our next step."
