Mino’s dream started the way the good ones did—like a lie you wanted to believe.

  She walked through a bright market street that smelled like fruit and fried dough. Music drifted from somewhere unseen. People smiled at her without staring at her ears. She wasn’t hiding under a hood. She wasn’t waiting for someone to laugh.

  Her hands didn’t glow.

  Her chest didn’t ache.

  A little boy bumped into her, apologized, and ran on. Mino laughed—actually laughed—because nothing hurt, nothing threatened, nothing waited to shatter.

  Then the smell changed.

  Smoke.

  The music warped, slowed, and snapped into silence like a cord cut. The light dimmed. The stalls blurred, their colors bleeding into charred shapes. Warmth became harsh, dry heat.

  Fire crept across the ground in thin, eager fingers.

  Mino’s breath hitched. Her feet wouldn’t move. Her body remembered before her mind could.

  The market became her house.

  The bright faces became pale, still ones.

  The air became choking.

  And then the fire spoke—not in words, but in pressure. That familiar hungry push inside her ribs.

  Burn.

  Mino tried to scream. The smoke swallowed the sound.

  A shadow moved through the flames.

  Zach.

  He stepped out of the heat like he belonged in it, hair damp, sleeves rolled up, shirt half open as if he’d been fighting the fire with his hands. His eyes were steady, the only steady thing in a world turning to ash.

  “Mino,” he said, voice cutting through the roar. “Look at me.”

  She clung to the sound the way drowning people clung to driftwood.

  “I can’t—” she choked.

  “Yes you can,” Zach said, and his hand closed around her wrist—firm, grounding. “You’re not alone.”

  He pulled her forward. The flames reached for them and bent away, as if something in him refused to let them have her.

  For a heartbeat, she believed it.

  Then the world cracked.

  An explosion tore through the dream and ripped it apart like paper.

  Mino jolted awake.

  For a second she didn’t know where she was—only that the air smelled wrong, the walls trembled, and alarms screamed somewhere beyond her door.

  Then the dorm room came into focus. Small bed. Drawer. Pale HQ ceiling.

  And the window, flashing orange.

  Another boom rolled through the building, followed by the distant clatter of something collapsing.

  Mino sat upright, heart hammering, hands already tingling.

  Her door clicked.

  Zach opened it.

  He looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower—hair damp, skin carrying the clean scent of soap—one boot on, the other in his hand as he finished pulling on gear. His shirt was half buttoned. His expression was calm in the way it only ever was when chaos had started.

  He didn’t rush her.

  He didn’t shout.

  He leaned into the doorway and said, “Take your time.”

  Mino blinked, startled by the softness.

  Zach’s eyes flicked toward the hallway, where the sirens were louder. “Join me when you’re ready. I should be able to handle it.”

  Mino’s throat tightened. “Zach—”

  He gave her a look. Not dismissive. Not impatient. A vow, plain on his face.

  “Get dressed,” he said gently. “Breathe. Don’t sprint into panic.”

  Then he stepped away without waiting for her answer.

  Mino stared after him, chest tight. The dream clung to her like smoke.

  You’re not alone.

  She swung her feet down, hands shaking, and started getting dressed.

  Zach moved through HQ’s inner corridor like he already knew the pattern of the attack.

  Garth came the other way at a controlled jog, jaw clenched, eyes sharp. Alisa rode his back in a secure harness—small frame pressed close, arms locked around his shoulders. Not a liability. A decision.

  She wouldn’t leave him.

  He wouldn’t force her.

  Taco strode beside them, bladed bow across her back, wolfhound at her heel. The dog’s eyes were bright, scanning, tail low and ready.

  Zach met them at the intersection near the main access elevator.

  “Explosion location?” Zach asked.

  Garth’s voice was tight. “North perimeter. Outside the civilian buffer zone.”

  Alisa’s fingers tightened on the shoulder strap. “They’re loud.”

  “They want us looking,” Taco muttered. “That’s what loud is for.”

  Zach didn’t disagree.

  They moved fast—down corridors, through security doors sealing and unsealing as HQ shifted into defense mode. The closer they got to the surface, the more the air smelled like burned metal.

  They emerged outside into a street lit by emergency floodlights.

  The blast hadn’t hit HQ directly.

  It had hit near it—close enough to shake windows and wake sleeping agents, far enough to feel like a lure.

  And in that floodlit space, Mino saw the thing that turned her stomach cold even from a distance.

  People being rounded up.

  Civilians—some in pajamas, some clutching kids, some with hands raised and faces blank with shock—herded toward two trucks with reinforced sides. Medeians and mededians worked the perimeter, moving with the same disciplined efficiency they’d seen at the crater site.

  Not raiders.

  Collectors.

  “They’re taking them,” Alisa whispered, voice tight.

  Taco’s jaw clenched. “Recruitment by kidnapping.”

  Zach’s gaze swept the formation. “This is planned.”

  Garth stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “We stop it.”

  A figure stepped out from the enemy line and raised a hand like he was greeting old friends.

  He was young—late teens or early twenties—with hair sticking up in a messy crown and eyes that flickered with electric light. His grin was bright and wrong.

  Lightning medein.

  Strong.

  “Kyle,” Garth muttered, like the name tasted bad.

  Kyle’s smile widened. “Garth! Wow. I thought you’d be taller in person.”

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  Garth didn’t play along. “Let them go.”

  Kyle spread his hands. Electricity danced between his fingers in thin snapping threads.

  “Can’t,” Kyle said cheerfully. “We need them.”

  Zach’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”

  Kyle tilted his head. “Recruits. Vessels. Workers. Whatever they turn out to be.” He said it like he was picking fruit.

  A low, cold sound rose behind Kyle—wind through bones.

  Two spirits stepped forward.

  Not fire.

  One looked like a man made of gray mist, edges fraying into smoke. The other was taller and thinner, with a face like carved stone and eyes like empty wells.

  The air around them thickened. Wrong.

  Taco’s wolfhound growled, deep and warning.

  Kyle’s eyes flicked toward the dog. “Aw. Puppy’s mad.”

  Taco’s voice went flat. “Call him puppy again and I’ll make you swallow your teeth.”

  Kyle laughed, delighted.

  Garth shifted, shoulders squaring. “Alisa,” he said quietly, “free the people.”

  Alisa’s arms tightened around him. “Garth—”

  He didn’t argue. He lifted one hand.

  A barrier shimmered into existence around her—thin, translucent, hugging her like a second skin. Not invincible, but his.

  Protection.

  “Go,” Garth said.

  Alisa swallowed hard, then slid off his back and sprinted away—not toward the trucks, but sideways, disappearing behind a row of damaged vehicles to loop around the fight.

  Kyle watched her go with a grin. “Sending your girlfriend on a side quest? Cute.”

  Garth’s eyes went colder.

  Zach stepped forward. “We’re done talking.”

  Kyle’s grin brightened. “Finally.”

  The fight hit like a storm.

  Kyle snapped his fingers and lightning arced toward Zach—fast, loud, blinding. Zach rolled as the bolt shredded the asphalt where he’d been standing.

  Taco fired an arrow. Kyle flicked a hand and electricity wrapped it mid-flight, burning it to ash.

  “Wow,” Taco muttered. “Rude.”

  The spirits moved too—one sweeping misty hands that made the air press down, thickening breath, slowing limbs. The stone-faced one struck the ground and sent a shockwave through the street, cracking concrete and forcing Garth and Taco to stagger.

  But the enemy formation wasn’t built to win a duel.

  It was built to hold space.

  To buy time.

  The line held while the trucks loaded.

  And still—despite the spirits, despite Kyle’s lightning—Zach, Garth, and Taco started to push them back.

  Zach fought like a man refusing to let a corridor be taken again. Dampeners slapped onto wrists, throats, chests. His movements were sharp, economical, brutal when needed. He kept winning exchanges even when lightning made the world flicker white.

  Taco shifted between ranged and close work, her bladed bow snapping into place like it had always belonged in her hands. She clipped a mededian’s ankle with steel and followed with an arrow into their shoulder, dropping them without finishing them.

  Garth absorbed the worst of the spirit pressure, pushing forward anyway. His own energy flared hard when he needed it. His eyes kept darting toward the trucks.

  Toward Alisa.

  “Where is she?” Zach snapped between strikes.

  “She’ll find a way,” Garth grunted, and it sounded like prayer as much as confidence.

  Mino exited the dorm corridor at a run, fully dressed, heart hammering.

  She cut through the café on her way out—and stopped cold.

  A figure stood near the window, pretending to sip coffee while their eyes tracked the chaos outside with practiced stillness.

  Too still.

  Too aware.

  A watcher.

  Mino’s hands flared faintly.

  The watcher glanced toward her—only a flick of attention, then away, like she was nothing.

  Something hot rose in Mino’s chest.

  Not rage.

  Resolve.

  She walked straight toward them.

  Their eyes flicked again, sharper now. Weight shifted. A preparation to move.

  Mino didn’t let it happen.

  She raised one hand and released a tight, silent beam at point-blank range.

  They didn’t even have time to speak.

  The beam hit center mass.

  The body collapsed—dead before it hit the floor.

  Mino stood over it, breathing hard, feeling the ember inside her flicker with satisfaction.

  She hated that.

  She didn’t stop to process it.

  She turned and sprinted toward the fight outside.

  Alisa moved like someone who had decided fear didn’t get to steer.

  She slipped between wrecked cars, kept low, followed sound without letting it pull her into the obvious path. Garth’s barrier hummed faintly against her skin like a promise.

  She reached the first truck from the side where the guards were thin.

  Two weak mededians stood watch—nervous, young, not part of the disciplined core.

  Alisa didn’t hesitate.

  She moved in fast, drove a compact baton into one throat. The mededian gagged and dropped.

  The second raised a hand, eyes widening—

  Alisa slammed the baton into their wrist, then their temple.

  They crumpled.

  Alisa yanked open the truck door.

  Inside, civilians huddled together—wide eyes, shallow breaths, hands clenched around each other. A child whimpered.

  Alisa climbed in just enough to reach the internal latch, hands shaking but sure.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Go. Now. Run. Don’t stop.”

  They surged out, stumbling at first, then breaking into frantic motion as the door being open became real.

  Alisa guided them toward cover, heart hammering.

  One truck.

  Freed.

  But the second was already pulling away—engine roaring as it turned toward the access road.

  “No,” Alisa breathed, turning—

  Kyle saw her.

  His grin sharpened.

  Electricity snapped around him as he broke away from the main fight and sprinted toward her, each step making the air pop.

  Alisa froze for half a heartbeat—

  Then Garth appeared between them in a blink, teleporting into place with his weapon raised.

  Kyle slid to a stop, laughing. “Aww. Protective.”

  Garth’s voice was ice. “Walk away.”

  Kyle tilted his head. “Or what?”

  They collided.

  Lightning screamed. Garth’s barrier flared as he absorbed a hit that would have stopped a human heart. He retaliated with a force pulse that shattered pavement under Kyle’s feet.

  Kyle grinned through it. “You hit like a dad.”

  Garth’s jaw clenched.

  Behind them, the second truck accelerated.

  Zach shouted, “THE TRUCK!”

  Taco tried to angle toward it—

  But a mededian on the truck’s roof lifted both hands.

  The air shimmered.

  The truck’s outline blurred.

  Then it vanished—not gone, but cloaked by distortion that made eyes slide off it like water.

  Mino arrived at the edge of the battle in time to see the road look empty even though she could still hear the engine.

  “They hid it,” Mino gasped.

  Zach’s face hardened. “Of course they did.”

  Mino raised her hands, trying to feel the distortion—trying to push her energy into it and force the shape into being.

  The ember inside her stirred, eager to tear.

  But the cloaking wasn’t simple. It was layered. Practiced.

  The engine sound thinned. Faded. Disappeared into distance.

  Kyle disengaged with a laugh, skipping backward as if the fight had been a game.

  “Thanks for the entertainment!” he called. “See you soon!”

  Then he slipped back into the retreating line with the spirits and the surviving mededians, withdrawing with the same disciplined calm as before.

  They didn’t run like losers.

  They left like they’d completed a task.

  The street fell quiet except for sobbing civilians Alisa had freed and the distant sirens of local response.

  Zach stood still, chest rising and falling hard.

  Taco spat into the dust. “We should’ve killed him.”

  Garth stared at the empty road, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

  Alisa stepped closer, barrier fading, hands shaking. “I got one truck.”

  Garth’s gaze softened for a fraction. “You did good.”

  Mino swallowed, staring at the freed civilians. “What were they going to do with them?”

  Zach’s voice was quiet. “Recruit.”

  Mino’s skin prickled.

  Taco’s wolfhound pressed close to her leg, still growling faintly, like it could smell the trail and hated that it was gone.

  Garth finally spoke, voice low. “This wasn’t random.”

  Zach looked at him. “No.”

  Mino’s throat tightened. “So what was it?”

  Garth’s eyes were dark. “A test. A harvest. And a message.”

  They didn’t have time to unpack it. Not with dust still settling and people still shaking.

  But as they regrouped, the same question threaded through all of them.

  How many trucks are there?

  Spike’s voice filled the dark room like a lash.

  He paced, shadows clinging to him. Kyle stood in front of him with his head slightly bowed—not broken, just smart.

  “You let them stop you again, Kyle,” Spike snapped. “You disappoint me.”

  Kyle swallowed. “No, sir.”

  Spike leaned in, eyes gleaming. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

  Kyle’s voice tightened. “No, sir.”

  Spike’s mouth curled. “Then tell me. Did you get anything useful?”

  Kyle nodded quickly. “Yes. We know where one of their HQs is.”

  Spike’s gaze sharpened with satisfaction. “Good.”

  Kyle hurried on. “But I don’t think we’re strong enough to take it—yet.”

  The air in the room seemed to tighten anyway.

  Kyle pushed forward before Spike could speak. “We still have the map from one of our agents.”

  In his mind, the memory flashed—flickering corridor lights, Zach fighting the mind-talker, her smile as she whispered I saw things, the way she peeled information out of him like skin.

  Kyle steadied. “We know several of their outposts around the world. We hit a weaker one, gather intel, learn more about the people slowing us down.”

  Spike’s smile sharpened, pleased by the strategy and the hunger underneath it.

  “Yes,” Spike murmured. “I want names. I want faces.”

  He turned away slightly, as if looking at a schedule only he could see.

  “Continue with our plans,” Spike said. “We can’t slip.”

  Kyle nodded fast. “Yes, sir.”

  “And find out,” Spike added, voice soft and poisonous, “who they are.”

  Kyle swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  Spike’s smile lingered after Kyle left the room, like a knife left on a table.

  Outside, trucks rolled through the night with stolen civilians hidden behind distortion.

  Inside HQ, the defenders counted the ones they’d saved and felt the weight of the ones they hadn’t.

  And on the horizon, evil didn’t just loom anymore.

  It organized.

  It recruited.

  It moved people like inventory.