I have no time.
I take the first staircase I find and hit the ground running. The marching sound from beyond the walls is louder now—a deep, tectonic rumble that vibrates through the soles of my boots and doesn't stop.
The squad is exactly where I left them. Same spot. Different energy.
Rhayne is rubbing her gloves together in a slow, repetitive loop—the specific, unconscious rhythm of someone managing anxiety through friction. Her storm-cloud eyes are locked on the main gate, tracking the flow of soldiers pouring through it.
Brendon and Oliver are huddled close, speaking in low, urgent voices. Planning something between themselves. Good. Initiative means they're still functional.
And Lola.
Lola is sitting on top of her metal case, elbows on her knees, chin resting in both palms, staring at absolutely nothing with the profound, transcendent boredom of a child waiting for a dentist appointment.
"Everyone stay put. Lola, you're with me."
