The perimeter alarm tore through the staging area just before midnight, three days into the activation training.
Victor was up and moving before he'd fully registered the sound, the same instinct from the facility breach kicking in automatically. Outside, soldiers were already converging toward the tree line, weapons raised, floodlights sweeping across underbrush that had, until tonight, remained quiet since their arrival.
"Report," Ashworth demanded, striding out of the command tent already half-dressed for combat.
"Movement at the perimeter, west side," a soldier called back. "Multiple signatures. Corrupted."
"How many?"
"Unclear. At least four, maybe more."
Victor's chest tightened. Four Bloomborn, moving together, wasn't a random incident. That was coordination, or something close enough to it that the distinction barely mattered.
"Group Three," Samuel said, already moving toward them with weapons in hand. "This is what we trained for. Formation, exactly like the drills."
