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No hesitation now.
No argument.
Just action.
We run.
Jase
No cover.
No concealment.
Just speed.
And that’s not enough.
The drone tracks us easily—adjusting with every direction change, every shift in terrain.
Too smooth.
Too controlled.
“They’ve got thermal,” Mila says.
“I know.”
“Then running isn’t going to fix this.”
“No,” I agree.
“It’s not.”
I stop suddenly.
She almost runs into me.
“What are you—”
“We take it down.”
Mila
I blink.
Once.
Because—
Of course we are.
“With what?” I ask.
“You’ve got a sidearm.”
“That’s not built for aerial targets.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
