The revelation didn't end in a stand-off; it ended in a stampede.
"The bunkers are fully provisioned," Baskwood's voice projected over the growing murmurs, cold and clinical. "Every operative in this room, and your immediate families, has been granted Tier-1 access. The coordinates have been sent to your personal devices. I suggest you move quickly. The window for safe travel is closing."
Jessie didn't wait for him to finish. She fumbled her white Google Pixel 10 out of her tactical vest, her fingers trembling as she swiped the screen. The call connected instantly.
"Hey—hey, look at me," she whispered into the phone, her voice cracking. "I need you to listen. I'm coming home right now. Get the bags I packed in the basement. Don't look at the news, just—" She froze, her eyes widening as she listened to her husband's frantic voice on the other end. "A dragon? You saw it? Stay away from the windows! I'm on my way!"
She bolted toward the exit, her boots skidding on the marble. Her departure was the catalyst. One by one, the other analysts and field agents—men and women who had spent years dedicated to the "mission"—broke rank. The professional facade of Blackstar Strategic crumbled into raw, human panic.
Xavier watched them go, his scarred eye twitching with a mixture of disgust and despair. He looked at Vance, who was staring at his own tablet, watching the thermal pings from the tracker move with impossible speed.
"We're done here, Vance," Xavier growled, shaking his head. "If the whole deck is stacked, there's no point in playing the hand." He turned and ran for the door, Vance right on his heels, leaving the high-tech sanctuary of the briefing room behind.
The room emptied until only Baskwood and his son remained. The Director stood in the doorway, a silhouette of charcoal grey against the bright hallway lights. He didn't look like a villain; he looked like a man who had already accepted the end of the world.
He turned his head slightly as Raven stood up from the mahogany table, his breathing ragged.
"Don't you want to get home to your pregnant wife, Raven?" Baskwood asked. His voice was softer now, almost reaching for a fatherly tone that no longer belonged to him. "The Grafton bunker has a specialized medical wing. She'll have the best care in the new world. It's time to go."
Raven didn't answer. He didn't even look at the man who shared his blood. He simply lunged forward, charging past his father into the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the crowd of fleeing employees.
Baskwood stood alone in the silence of the room, the glowing holographic map of the world still pulsing behind him—a world that, according to his calculations, was about to become very, very small.