The door exploded inward. Wood shards flew like shrapnel. Elena didn’t wait—she dove left, shoulder rolling across the concrete as bullets chewed the wall where her head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Three men in black tactical gear poured in, muzzles flashing. Suppressors coughed. Sparks danced off the metal shelves behind her.
She came up firing. Two quick pulls on the trigger. The first intruder’s visor spider-webbed red; he dropped. The second jerked, took one in the thigh, kept coming.
Elena sprinted deeper into the warehouse. Heart slamming against ribs. Breath raw. She vaulted a crate, boots skidding on oil-slick floor. Gunfire chased her, stitching lines across the darkness.
“Target moving west!” one shouted into comms.
She didn’t have time to think. Only move. Faster. Always
