Trouble wasn’t just rebellion—it was an escape. A way to breathe outside a house that had suffocated under grief, where her father had buried himself in endless work to provide for a stepmother who drained him dry, where loss had carved out everything except anger.

She wasn’t supposed to be here tonight.

Just another abandoned building, another place to leave a mark, another moment of controlled recklessness. She had done this a thousand times before—slipping through locked spaces, swimming past signs that said “DANGER—KEEP OUT,” climbing where she wasn’t allowed.

But this wasn’t abandoned.

And she wasn’t alone.

The voices hit her first—low, deliberate, dangerous. She had already stepped inside before instinct kicked in, and by then, it was too late.

Makarov. The Wolf. Corrupt politicians, warlords, men who had bought entire cities with blood and silence.

She was dead if they found her.

But she couldn’t leave.

Armed men lined the exits, securing the perimeter, watching the halls. Escaping unnoticed would be impossible.

So she hid.

And listened.

Minutes stretched into hours. She had calmed herself down, forced her breathing steady, settled into the stillness even as tension coiled beneath her skin. She absorbed words she was never supposed to hear—covert arms deals, government betrayals, threats wrapped in diplomacy.

Then Nikolai saw her.

His gaze barely flicked to the corner, tracking movement. Not a guard. Not an enemy. Something off.

She didn’t look freshly panicked—she had already forced herself to stay calm.

She had been here before them.

And she hadn’t been caught.

Nikolai shifted slightly, voice barely audible. “We have another problem.”

Ghost didn’t move, but his attention sharpened instantly. “Be specific.”

Nikolai’s tone was dry. “Civilian. Doesn’t belong.”

Soap frowned slightly, scanning the area. “You sure?”

“She’s got a bag,” Nikolai muttered. “Spray paint.”

Price’s head barely turned, his voice controlled. “Came here to tag the place?”

Nikolai gave a short nod. “Bad timing.”

Krueger exhaled quietly, unimpressed. “She’s got worse luck than we do.”

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “She’s been here longer than us.”

Farah narrowed her eyes slightly, tracking the way she held herself—tense, but not like someone newly terrified. “She’s settled into it.”

Rodolfo’s lips pressed into a firm line. “She’s had time to adjust.”

Alex exhaled through his nose, watching her position. “Then she’s heard things we haven’t.”

Roach shifted slightly, gaze moving between her and the meeting below. “Doesn’t even know what she’s sitting on.”

Laswell barely blinked, her focus still on the criminals. “And if they catch her, she’s dead.”

Silence settled.

Soap glanced down at her again, studying the way she stayed still, cautious but not recklessly afraid. “Christ. She walked into a snake pit and just sat down.”

Nikto let out a sharp breath, unimpressed. “Worse. She listened.”

Alejandro shook his head slightly, muttering. “She’s about to be dragged into this war whether she likes it or not.”

Ghost sighed, rubbing a slow hand over his face. “Teenagers always find the worst places to be.”

Price’s jaw tightened.

Their mission had just changed.