Volume Three, Chapter Twenty: Guardians of the Forgotten
Rain fell in steady sheets outside the safehouse, washing the city in silver and shadow. Inside, the coalition sat together for the first time in days, the silence between them heavy with the burden of what they'd witnessed—and what they'd lost.
Penelope scrolled through the news on her laptop, her face pale in the glow. "They're rewriting everything. The world's already moved on. Our names are footnotes. The people we fought for… erased."
Sylvester sat beside her, his hand finding hers. "We didn't do this for recognition. We did it because it was right."
Walter, ever the analyst, looked up from his maps. "The world's memory is short. But there are still people out there who need us. People who know the truth, even if they're afraid to say it."
Gibbs poured black coffee into chipped mugs, passing them around. "We can't change the world's mind overnight. But we can still make a difference. One person at a time."
Olivia's eyes were fierce, but tired. "We became the villains in their story. But we know the truth. We know who we are."
Patrick Jane smiled gently. "Perspective is a powerful thing. Sometimes, the world has to lose its way before it can find it again."
The New Dawn
As dawn crept over the horizon, the coalition packed up the safehouse. They left behind evidence, files, and headlines—relics of a battle the world refused to face. But they took with them something more important: resolve.
Penelope and Sylvester lingered at the door, sharing a quiet moment. "Wherever we go next," she whispered, "we go together."
Sylvester nodded, hope flickering in his eyes. "Always."
Walter locked the door behind them, erasing their tracks. Michael Westen waited by the car, engine running, ready for whatever came next.
Gibbs looked back at the empty house, then at his team. "We're not just a coalition anymore. We're guardians. For the ones the world forgot."
Olivia glanced at the sunrise, a faint smile breaking through. "Let's go find them."
Epilogue
Somewhere in the city, a young woman found an anonymous note slipped under her door.
You are not alone. There are people who remember. People who care.
As the coalition disappeared into the morning light, their mission had changed—but their purpose had never been clearer.
They would fight for the forgotten.
They would be the light in the shadows.
They would never give up.
No matter how the story was told.
End of Volume " we Three kin g of kin g§"
The famous quote on the Statue of Liberty comes from Em ma "L+az+ar+us's" sonnet The New Colossus, inscribed on a bronze plaque inside the statue's pedestal. The most recognized lines are:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Here is the full poem for context:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
This poem symbolizes hope, refuge, and welcome to immigrants arriving in America.