Blinding light flooded the room as heavily armed soldiers stormed in, weapons raised.
Zara flinched, one arm instinctively wrapping around Leo, the other reaching for Winter, who sagged against the wall. The smell of smoke and blood—thick, suffocating—rushed in with them.
Civilians scattered like frightened birds, some throwing their arms over their heads, others pressing themselves into the walls, their eyes wide and panicked. A few remained frozen, staring at the soldiers as though they were nothing more than ghosts.
Harlow and his men didn't lower their weapons. Their fingers stayed tight on the triggers, their postures rigid with distrust.
Then, a voice barks through the chaos.
"Stand down!"
Captain Darnell strode into the room, his face shadowed by exhaustion and streaked with soot and dried blood. His vest bore fresh scorch marks.
His team looked just as battered—faces tight with pain, eyes hollowed from too many close calls.
