"Says who?" Cillian counters. "I've celebrated plenty of things that never happened."
I'm about to respond when a distant boom echoes across the compound. We both freeze, instincts sharpening.
"That wasn't our artillery," Cillian says quietly.
Shouts erupt outside. "INCOMING!"
I lunge for my sidearm as Cillian reaches for his. The world explodes around us. A deafening blast that sends the table flying and rains debris down from the ceiling. My ears ring as I pushmyself up from the floor, disoriented. Smoke fills the room, thick and acrid.
"Logan!" Cillian's voice sounds distant through the ringing. A hand grips my arm, pulling me upright.
Pain lances through my side. I look down to see a jagged piece of metal embedded just below my ribs, blood already soaking my uniform.
"Shit," I mutter, the world tilting slightly.
"Don't touch it," Cillian orders, his voice clearer now. "We need to move."
Gunfire erupts outside, sporadic at first, then intensifying. Through the hole blown in our command tent, I catch glimpses of chaos — our soldiers scrambling for defensive positions as dark figures pour over the northern perimeter.
"Rebels," I growl. "How the hell did they get past our scouts?"
"Questions later." Cillian hefts his rifle, positioning himself between me and the entrance. "Can you walk?"
I nod, gritting my teeth against the pain. "I can fight."
"You can bleed somewhere safer," he corrects, eyes never leaving the entrance.
The tent flap rips open. Cillian fires twice in rapid succession, and a body tumbles through the opening. He's already moving, pushing me toward the back of the tent, where a small exit leads to the communications bunker.
Three more rebels burst in, firing wildly. Cillian shoves me down behind an overturned cabinet, returning fire with practiced precision. Two rebels fall. The third ducks behind a support beam.
"Stay down," Cillian hisses, ejecting his spent magazine and slapping in a fresh one.
The pain in my side is a burning coal, but adrenaline keeps it manageable. I draw my pistol, waiting for the rebel to make his move.
He does, lunging from cover with a battle cry. Cillian and I fire simultaneously. The rebel jerks and collapses mid-stride.
"We need to reach the bunker," Cillian says, pulling me to my feet. "Radio for air support."
I stumble, the metal in my side shifting. Fresh blood pulses down my leg.
"Fuck," Cillian mutters, glancing at my wound. "Change of plans."
He ducks under my arm, taking my weight while somehow maintaining his grip on his rifle. We move toward the exit, each step sending fresh waves of pain through my body.
Outside, the compound has descended into chaos. Smoke billows from burning vehicles. Gunfire echoes from multiple directions. Rebels have breached the inner perimeter, engaging our forces in close-quarter combat.
Cillian pulls me into the shadow of a supply shed, his eyes scanning for a path forward. A rebel spots us and raises his weapon. Cillian fires first, dropping him with a headshot while barely breaking stride.
"The bunker's compromised," he says, nodding toward a cluster of rebels swarming the communications center. "Medical tent's our best option."
I squint through the smoke. "Too exposed. We'd never make it."
"Watch me." His voice holds absolute certainty.
We move along the edge of the compound, Cillian half-carrying me while somehow still firing at any threat that emerges. My vision blurs at the edges, the pain becoming harder to ignore.
"Stay with me, Logan," Cillian growls. "If you die, I'll have to explain it to your father, and we both know how that conversation will go."
