The thunder of rotors rolled across the Metkayina shoreline as the RDA gunship descended, sand and sea spray whipping into the air. Soldiers moved with practiced precision the moment they touched down, spreading out and forming a controlled perimeter along the beach.
Miles Quaritch stepped forward first.
His gaze swept over the gathered Metkayina, sharp and assessing, taking in every movement, every reaction. Behind him, Varang stood tense and watchful, her usual ferocity muted by the weight of this place. The alliance had already been sealed—but this confrontation was one neither side welcomed.
Smoke curled over the reef in the distance, dark shapes rising where calm waters had once been. The message was unmistakable.
Quaritch didn’t raise his voice at first. He didn’t need to.
“Jake Sully,” he called out, tone steady and carrying easily over the noise of engines and waves. “You know the drill. Step forward.”
The crowd shifted. Warriors tightened their grips. The air felt heavy, stretched thin by expectation.
And then his attention caught on you.
You stood among them—still, composed, watching him without flinching. Not hiding. Not posturing. Something about your presence made his eyes linger longer than they should have. Quaritch straightened slightly, interest sharpening behind his calm expression.
He pointed, decisive.
“You too,” he said. “Don’t make this complicated.”
Murmurs rippled through the Metkayina, but Quaritch raised a single hand, silencing them with ease.
“Everyone stays calm,” he added, voice low but firm. “This ends clean if we keep it that way.”
Soldiers moved in, guiding Jake forward—and you with him—toward the waiting helicopter. As the rotors grew louder, Quaritch fell into step beside you, his presence unmistakable, his attention briefly returning to you with a look that suggested this wasn’t just about Sully anymore.
“Let’s move,” he ordered.
The doors slid open, the beach falling away behind you as the helicopter lifted, carrying unanswered questions—and new tensions—into the sky.