“You just signed your own death warrant,” the bald one screams.
“Get in line,” I reply.
More drones flood in.
Independent feeds.
Local news.
Underground streamers.
Every lens in the room locks onto us.
Kimberly steps up beside me.
No hesitation.
No flinch.
My bone spurs are still deployed.
My armor is scorched.
My eyes are glowing faintly from neural overdrive.
The world is watching.
“Tur,” Alliance command cuts back into my ear, voice tight and shaking with fury. “Withdraw immediately. We can still contain this.”
I look straight into the nearest camera.
“No,” I say calmly.
Kimberly’s hand finds mine.
The bond burns hot and steady between us, a living engine of defiance.
“This city was a containment experiment,” I continue, my voice carrying clearly over the roar of distant riots and sirens. “The Nine are a criminal empire propped up by Alliance oversight. And I am done being your fucking asset.”
One of the Nine leaders fires.
Kimberly shoots him first.
The camera feed goes wild.
People scream.
The war stops being theoretical.
It’s live.
CHAPTER 27
KIMBERLY
The first thing I do after we make it out of the compound alive is not cry, not scream, not collapse into Tur’s arms like every exhausted, traumatized woman in every bad holodrama ever made.
I steal a transport truck.
