The words catch me completely off guard.
For one strange second, the room goes still.
Because suddenly he doesn’t look like a terrorist.
He just looks tired.
Broken.
Human.
And somehow that almost makes this worse.
Another explosion rocks the building violently.
Dust rains from the ceiling.
The younger guard shouts from outside the office.
“MOVE!”
The older guard storms back inside.
His eyes land on me instantly.
“You come. NOW.”
I yank my wrist free and move back toward the main warehouse floor.
Chaos greets me immediately.
People crying.
Children screaming.
Armed men yelling over each other while automatic gunfire erupts outside the loading doors.
One of the militia trucks parked near the entrance suddenly explodes in flames.
The blast wave slams through the warehouse hard enough to knock several civilians to the floor.
And then—
The fighting comes inside.
Gunfire tears through the loading entrance.
Men start screaming.
The guards fire back instantly while civilians scatter behind crates and broken pallets.
I grab a child and shove her behind a concrete support beam just as bullets rip through the wall behind us.
The entire warehouse erupts into chaos.
And deep down—
Beneath the fear and adrenaline and violence—
