We didn’t wait for nightfall.
By midday, the strike teams were already in motion; no speeches, no rallying calls. Just gear loaded, orders distributed, routes memorized. Every move was exact, rehearsed. The war hall buzzed with quiet purpose, no louder than a heartbeat. You could feel it in the air: we were done waiting. Done reacting.
The intel from Myra's journal gave us more than just a target. It gave us a map of their operations. Cloaked sites. Hidden relays. Secondary supply hubs disguised as ruins. They thought we were blind. They thought wrong.
Rome took the western flank with a six-man team. Luca moved east with our stealth unit. Quinn and I headed south with two squads, one recon, one assault. No backup. No margin for error.
We left the estate under cloud cover. The roads out
