The first shot shattered the quiet.

Students screamed, diving for cover as backpacks were abandoned, desks overturned, and papers scattered like debris in the panic. Classroom doors slammed shut, teachers shouting over the chaos. But it wouldn’t matter. Rorke’s men weren’t here for anyone else.

They were here for her.

Gunfire rattled through the halls, controlled bursts cutting through walls and lockers as the invaders moved with practiced efficiency. They weren’t careless. They weren’t making noise for the sake of intimidation. They moved like professionals, clearing corners with lethal precision, stepping over the fallen, reloading in intervals.

She didn’t run.

Not immediately. Running blindly meant making noise. Noise meant getting caught.

Instead, she slipped toward the maintenance stairwell, staying low, moving deliberately. The exit would be obvious, expected. She needed unpredictability.

Then—another shift.

Another force entering the fight.

Gunfire erupted again, but this time, it wasn’t Rorke’s men firing first.

"Multiple hostiles, north wing," Merrick ordered through comms, his voice sharp and urgent. "Intercept."

"Affirmative," Logan answered without hesitation, already pressing forward.

"Ground level has six remaining," Keegan reported, tone calm despite the chaos. "They’re sweeping for exits."

"Don’t let them reach her," Elias commanded. "Move fast. Cover the halls."

From the shattered windows, the Ghosts struck back.

Elias led the push from the main corridor, issuing directives with quick precision. He didn’t hesitate—he didn’t need to. He had trained them for this.

Logan took the left flank, fire controlled, movements sharp, clearing operatives before they had time to reposition. He moved between lockers, never lingering in one place too long, constantly shifting like a specter in the chaos.

Hesh followed just behind him, covering angles Logan didn’t have time to check, eliminating threats before they could become problems. He worked fast—methodical, efficient, nothing wasted.

Merrick secured the southern hall, adjusting their formation, cutting off escape routes before Rorke’s men could spread wider. He fired as he moved, keeping comms steady, a commander keeping the battlefield tight.

Keegan held the stairwells, sweeping blind spots with ruthless precision, ensuring no one slipped past their line. He barely made a sound, his footfalls near silent, always a step ahead of the enemy before they realized he was even there.

And then came the others.

Ajax pushed from the west wing, his movements brutal, like an unstoppable force cutting through walls of resistance. Rorke’s men barely had time to react before he was on them, pressing their advantage with relentless aggression.

Neptune watched from the upper levels, controlling overwatch, keeping his rifle trained on any escape attempts. If they tried to run, they wouldn’t make it far.

Jester cut through the confusion, slipping between shadows, quick on his feet, cold humor lacing through comms. But his grin faded when he spotted movement up ahead.

"Rooftop," Jester reported, voice clipped. "She slipped out."

Elias didn’t even hesitate. "Falcon, eyes on?"

"Affirmative," Falcon responded. "She’s out. But she’s not alone."

The rooftop door creaked open. The wind struck her first, sharp and biting, dragging across her skin as she stepped onto the open space above the battlefield.

She crouched low against the rooftop’s edge, keeping herself unseen as she unzipped her backpack. The device—her device—sat secured beneath layers of shielding.

She had only ever wanted to save lives.

Instead, she had created something worth killing for.

And now footsteps ring out.

They're not hers.

Not the Ghosts.

So, the enemies.