Outside, militia fighters continue exchanging fire with the operator’s strike team near the riverfront.
Bodies already litter the street.
But inside this loading dock?
Nobody moves.
The operator watches me with the same cold focus I’d use on a target assessment.
He’s measuring reaction time.
Emotional attachment.
Threat level.
And I hate how good he is at it.
“You trained her,” I say flatly.
“Yes.”
“You helped flag her.”
A pause.
Then—
“I tried to remove her from the list.”
That catches me off guard.
Apparently it catches Hannah too.
“What?” she whispers.
The operator finally looks at her fully again.
“You were never supposed to be deployed into an active conflict zone.”
The militia commander laughs harshly from outside the loading entrance.
“And yet here we are.”
The operator ignores him completely.
Interesting.
There’s bad blood there.
Maybe enough to use.
Russ subtly shifts closer beside me.
I feel him reading the room too.
Looking for fractures.
Weaknesses.
