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Saint.

Alive.

Marco is already moving before anyone finishes speaking.

“She’ll have overwatch,” he says quietly. “Two teams minimum.”

Havoc checks the magazine on his weapon with a quiet click.

“Good,” he says.

“I was bored.”

We split without another word.

Wolf and I move west, sliding along the outer wall toward a reinforced service door.

Havoc climbs the steel ladder to the upper catwalk, disappearing into the shadows above.

Marco…

Marco vanishes.

One second he’s beside us.

The next he’s gone.

I hold up my hand.

Three fingers.

Wolf nods.

Three.

Two.

One.

The west door comes off its hinges in a tight, controlled blast.

We’re already moving when the echo hits the far walls.

Inside smells like rust, oil, and stale water.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

A shout from above.

“Contact, second floor!”

Gunfire cracks through the open interior.

Short bursts.

Precise.