We don’t have ten seconds.
A vehicle swings out from a side corridor—black, armored, moving too fast for civilian traffic. Another behind it. Their headlights cut through the industrial haze like eyes.
Nine.
Not in uniform. Not flying banners. But the way they move—coordinated, predatory—tells me everything.
“Contact,” Rook says, voice calm despite the situation.
Gunfire erupts—sharp, compact bursts. Not loud. Suppressed. Professional.
The air fills with the smell of hot metal and burned propellant.
Civilians scatter—dock workers in oil-stained coats, a couple of vendors pushing carts, a cluster of commuters waiting under a transit awning.
Morazin twists in his cuffs, eyes gleaming. “This is delightful.”
“Shut up,” I growl.
Rook swerves, trying to angle us away from the closing gate, but the corridor narrows. The decoy vehicle ahead slams the brakes and jerks sideways, blocking one of the attackers.
Shots ping off metal. Sparks fly.
Jordan’s voice crackles: “I can open the gate—two seconds?—”
A civilian screams.
A stray round hits the wall near the transit hub entrance, spraying concrete dust over a group of bystanders who duck and scramble.
I see them through the window—three kids, maybe teenagers, huddled behind a pillar. A woman dragging one by the arm, face pale with terror. A man in a worker vest frozen in shock.
The Nine agents don’t care.
They’ll carve through anything between them and Morazin.
And if we keep pushing forward, crossfire will chew those people up like collateral.
Rook barks, “We can punch through! We’ll be past them!”
Jordan’s voice is urgent. “Lonari, if you stop, they’ll box you in?—”
I taste blood where my teeth press into my tongue.
The easy move is to keep moving. Let the civilians handle themselves. We’re not heroes.
But I can’t—something in me refuses.
Maybe it’s Jordan. Maybe it’s the way she said she watched institutions sacrifice kids like her. Maybe it’s my own old line in the sand: brutality toward predators, protection for the powerless.
Either way, I’m already deciding.
“Hard left,” I say.
Rook snaps his head. “What?”
“Hard left!” I repeat. “Get us between the shooters and the bystanders.”
Rook hesitates for half a heartbeat—then obeys.
