The air crackled with tension as Ava crouched behind the twisted metal barricades, her breath heavy with uncertainty. The night was dense, smothering the stars, as shadows slithered around the perimeter of the antagonist's compound. Every corner seemed to whisper secrets, every gust of wind carried dread. The mission was simple in theory—extract the ally, retreat unscathed—but in execution, it was a dance with death, a gamble on the razor's edge.
"Ava, we've got movement on the south entrance," Marcus' voice crackled through the earpiece, barely above a whisper, yet heavy with urgency.
Ava's fingers clenched around her weapon. Her mind raced between logic and loyalty, between duty and the gut-wrenching fear of betrayal. Her new alliances were fragile, each thread woven with suspicion and necessity. But this—this was a test, and failure meant not just the loss of a comrade, but the unraveling of everything she had fought to rebuild.
