The bunker was quiet, too quiet for the storm raging outside. Clarke had been pacing, every word weighed with impossible consequences.

Monty stood nearby, hands fidgeting with the straps of his toolkit. You could see the conflict in his eyes—intelligence battling morality, fear clashing with his instinct to protect.

“You have to say something,” you urged quietly, stepping close. “If not you… who?”

Monty swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

“Yes, you can,” you said firmly. “You have to. Clarke’s listening to reason, but she can’t see everything. She doesn’t know what it feels like to be you. To know the cost of silence.”

Minutes passed. Clarke was preparing to make her final call—an impossible choice that would hurt hundreds if done wrong. Monty’s hands clenched, jaw tight.

“You’re right,” he said finally. His voice was shaky, but there was fire in it. “I can’t just… sit back. I have to tell her what I know.”

He stepped forward, all the courage you’d been waiting for shining through.

“Clarke,” he called, voice stronger now. “Wait. There’s another way. You don’t have to do this. I’ve been working on the system… I can override the atmospheric controls. The radiation can be contained—”

Clarke froze. Her eyes widened. “Monty… you’re sure?”

He nodded, certainty now tempered by fear. “I’m sure. We can save them. But only if you listen… only if you trust me.”

For the first time in hours, Clarke exhaled. “You’re right,” she said. “We do have another choice.”

The weight of the impossible lifted slightly, and Monty looked at you, relief and disbelief washing over him. You just smiled, squeezing his arm.

“Sometimes,” you whispered, “being the smartest guy in the room isn’t enough. You’ve got to be brave too.”

Monty met your eyes, and for a heartbeat, the fear and responsibility softened. He realized… courage wasn’t just about survival—it was about speaking when it mattered most.

And because he had, lives would be saved.