41
Havoc
Gunfire cracks through the comms.
Not distant.
Not delayed.
Immediate.
“Contact!” Trigger’s voice cuts through the static.
Everything in me locks.
Cold.
Focused.
Too far away.
“Trigger, report,” I snap.
“Three hostiles,” he fires back. “Front approach. Engaged.”
More shots.
Closer.
Louder.
I grip the radio tighter.
“Status on Aspen and Dylan?”
“Inside. Rylie’s got them.”
Good.
Another burst of gunfire.
Then—
A single shot.
Closer to the mic.
Too close.
“Trigger.”
A beat.
Then—
“Still standing.”
I exhale sharply.