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Havoc

Gunfire cracks through the comms.

Not distant.

Not delayed.

Immediate.

“Contact!” Trigger’s voice cuts through the static.

Everything in me locks.

Cold.

Focused.

Too far away.

“Trigger, report,” I snap.

“Three hostiles,” he fires back. “Front approach. Engaged.”

More shots.

Closer.

Louder.

I grip the radio tighter.

“Status on Aspen and Dylan?”

“Inside. Rylie’s got them.”

Good.

Another burst of gunfire.

Then—

A single shot.

Closer to the mic.

Too close.

“Trigger.”

A beat.

Then—

“Still standing.”

I exhale sharply.