A sudden roar cracked through the midnight air as the villa's defensive systems detected an explosion. Viola Kane bolted upright in her quarantine suite, heart pounding. The lights flickered; alarms blared. Frosted windows rattled as Marlowe's voice crackled over her headset: “They're here—hostiles on the east flank. Brace for breach!"
Viola sprang to her feet and yanked open the door. Down the corridor, shadowy figures in tactical gear raced toward the medical wing. Gunfire erupted—echoing, metallic cracks that rattled her core. She pressed herself against the wall and sprinted toward Lester's suite, every step a jolt of terror.
Her gloved hand hovered above the panic button, but she forced herself past it. Instead, she gripped her medical case and darted down the hall, weaving between
