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Same result.

A field.

Not armor.

Something between us and them.

Veyr’s face changed. “They shielded the corridor against electrical interference.”

Fantastic. Just what we needed.

One of the males on the upper level shouted something in Zunatorian, and I didn’t catch all of it—just enough.

Target. Human. Alive.

The one behind the barrier answered. “Evidence priority.”

Veyr heard it too. His weapon stayed trained on the nearest opening. “They want you conscious.”

“Comforting.”

“No.” He grabbed my arm and hauled me behind a cargo housing as another blast hit the floor where I’d been standing.

I crouched low. He leaned around the edge, counted, then looked back at me. Always counting.

“Two systems,” he said.

“What?”

“The ones above are Veil-trained.”

“How can you tell?”

“Movement.”

Of course. He could read a fight the way I read a spreadsheet.

“And the others?”

“Review Enforcement.”

My stomach dropped. There it was again—the same bureaucracy, different uniform, same problem. The Veil had built the trap, and Central Review had come to collect me. Two legitimate systems, one ambush.

Veyr reached for a second weapon, and I caught his sleeve before he could draw it.

“Can you beat them?”

He took a beat before answering, eyes moving to mine, and he didn’t lie. “Not cleanly.”

That scared me more than if he’d said no, because Veyr had never needed cleanly before.

He looked past me toward the east side of the hub. “There is a medical-transfer junction east.”

I followed his gaze to a set of sealed doors marked in blue—biological transport, chain-of-custody routing—and I recognized the format immediately.

“Those connect to the same medical logistics network?”

“Yes.”