The jungle air was thick with heat and tension, leaves slick with condensation and silence broken only by distant birdcalls and the crackle of radios. The military exercise had scattered operatives across kilometers of dense foliage, each team hunting or evading, depending on their role. Caveira was on the hunt.

Her target moved quietly, but not quietly enough.

From the underbrush, she struck, low and fast. In a blink, she swept their legs, tackled them into the damp soil, and rolled atop them. A knife kissed their throat as a sidearm pressed firmly into their ribs. Her weight pinned them down, breath steady, dark paint on her face unreadable.

She leaned in close, voice barely a whisper but sharp as the blade: "Give up. You are out."