The Greenland barracks loomed like a beast of steel and stone against the dying sky. Mora and her small team of five freedom fighters moved through the outer grounds in the disguise of ragged scavengers, their battered cart squealing under the weight of scrap metal.
Their target wasn't locked in a cell.
Gad still wore Greenland's colors, still played the part of loyal soldier — a ghost among enemies.
The plan to extract Gad came days later.
Mora and her team reached him under the chaos of a routine supply day. He slipped away from his post, blending seamlessly into the maintenance tunnels.
But when a Greenland soldier stumbled across them and raised an alarm, Lio had no choice but to fire — a single, deadly shot.
The sirens blared.
Soldiers flooded the grounds like angry bees. Commander Helda's voice cracked over the loudspeakers, ordering a full lockdown.
The freedom fighters ran, dragging Gad between them.
One by one, their numbers fell.
Thomlin took a bullet to the spine. Lessa dropped under a rain of gunfire. Arlen made it as far as the broken wall before a sniper's shot ended him.
Only Mora, Gad, and Kez pushed on toward the Ember Line — the twisted wasteland where Greenland patrols feared to follow.
But fate wasn't finished.
As they neared the ridge, Gad's injured leg gave out and he crashed to the dirt, stunned.
Jimi was the first to catch up, rifle leveled, breath ragged.
Gad looked up at him, defiant but exhausted.
For a long moment, the world held its breath.
Jimi remembered — not orders, not flags, not the cold lectures of Greenland commanders — but his father's dying roar at Red Hollow. He remembered Gad's warning, that blood remembers blood.
Slowly, painfully, Jimi lowered his weapon.
He fired two wild shots into the dirt, shouting curses to make it look real, then turned his back and vanished into the smoke.
Mora rushed to Gad, dragging him to his feet.
They stumbled across the ridge, into the broken wastelands beyond, where the fires of Ember Line burned against the night.
By the time they collapsed under the skeletal trees, only three of them remained — Mora, Gad, and Kez.
The cost was heavy. The dead would be mourned.
But Gad was free.
And somewhere back in Greenland's barracks, Jimi stood alone, rifle slung over his shoulder, knowing he had made his choice — and that there would be no turning back.
The Ember Line was far behind them now, but back inside the Greenland barracks, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and burning rubber.
Commander Helda stormed into the courtyard, her uniform half-buttoned, hair damp as if she had just rushed from the bathhouse. Her face was a storm barely contained.
Soldiers stood stiffly at attention, a line of shame and failure.
"Report!" Helda barked, wiping water from her forehead with the back of her hand.
One of the lieutenants stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Commander, it appears—" He swallowed hard. "The scavengers... they weren't scavengers. They were freedom fighters in disguise."
Helda's face darkened.
The lieutenant continued, sweating under her glare. "They took a soldier with them... one of our own. Gad. We believe he was the spy feeding them information."
For a moment, silence crushed the courtyard.
Behind Helda, another figure shifted — Commander Otuba, her second-in-command, a colder, older veteran with eyes like cracked stone.
At the mention of Gad's name, Otuba turned slowly.
His gaze swept the assembled soldiers... and landed on Jimi.
Across the open air, Jimi felt it — the weight of Otuba's suspicion.
Their eyes locked for a brief, electric moment.
Jimi kept his face carefully blank, but inside, his heart hammered.
Otuba narrowed his eyes, reading something in Jimi's stiff posture, the barely masked guilt that flickered before he shoved it down.
Commander Helda, too furious to notice the silent exchange, snapped, "Seal the gates! Lock down every sector! I want the barracks turned upside down! No one eats, no one sleeps until we find out if there are more traitors among us!"
"Yes, Commander!" the soldiers roared.
As they scattered to obey, Otuba lingered, his arms folded, watching Jimi a few seconds longer than necessary — a predator tasting blood.
Jimi turned away sharply, his hands clenched at his sides.