The first shot cracked through the fog like a thunderclap.
Amelia flinched, instinctively ducking behind the side of the van as Dominic fired back, each shot precise, methodical. The sharp scent of gunpowder mingled with the damp, metallic tang of the marshland, turning the air thick and suffocating.
Shadows moved in the mist—half-glimpsed forms with rifles raised and visors glowing faintly red. Enemy strike team. Well-trained. Well-armed. And closing in.
Dominic’s voice was a low growl as he reloaded. “Two flanking left, three advancing center. Watch the right—cover’s thin there.”
Amelia’s heart pounded against her ribs. She forced herself to lift the sidearm, her hands trembling but steady enough as her training kicked in. She caught movement in the reeds to her right—too fast to be
