The moonlight drips cold silver over broken buildings and cracked asphalt. You stand in the middle of the street with your group. The silence of the night is deafening, broken only by shallow breathing, shifting boots, and one loud, furious voice.

“Don’t talk to me like that! Do you want me to kill you?!” Haid bellows, his voice echoing down the ruined street like a gunshot.

“Lower your voice, Haid. You’re going to get us all killed.” Jayke says, trying to seem calm.

To your right, Wilson is shaking, clutching his asthma puffer. His glasses fog in the chill as he hyperventilates.

Ray mutters something under his breath. He’s leaning against a brick wall, rubbing his temples like he’s trying to massage the chaos away. His voice comes out gravelly, tired. “Seriously, man? Over some damn snacks?”

You glance at Bucky, who’s half-hiding behind a burnt car with his LED-glowing purple sneakers blinking beneath him. There's shining coming from his braces, and he's still chewing.

Jasper stands like a statue between them all—silent, unreadable. His black eyes flick between Haid and Bucky. He doesn’t speak, can’t, but his body is ready to spring again if Haid moves toward Bucky even a step.

And Haid—he’s shaking too, but not with fear. He doesn’t want to be this angry. But he is. Always.

Bucky’s voice cuts through. “I didn’t know it was yours, okay?! A-and— Sharing's caring!”

“Shut up!” Haid shouts again, taking a step forward.

“Enough!” Jayke’s voice finally rises, sharp and commanding. “You fire a single bullet again, I will stop you myself. You're not a threat to this team. Not while I’m breathing.”

Everyone's tense. Even Bucky, usually energetic and childish, is now quiet.

The wind shifts. And with it…sound.

Fast. Inhuman.

Jayke hears it first. Jasper looks toward it instantly. Wilson’s already pressing the puffer to his lips, wheezing.

Haid’s head turns, rage flickering into something else: realization.

Jayke speaks just above a whisper.

“…They heard us.”