Branches whipped past her face. Roots snagged at her boots. But Maya didn't stop.
She sprinted through the forest, every stride a desperate push forward. Her advanced suit dampened the noise and reduced friction, letting her move like a shadow—but nothing could quiet the storm in her chest.
Her breaths came quick now. Not from exhaustion, but from everything she'd just left behind. The scent of scorched metal. The crackle of fire. The last glimpse of Mark surrounded by flames.
"You're clear, Maya." Ezra's voice cracked in her ear. It was trying to stay calm, but she heard the tension under it. "Keep heading north. Yamal's tracking your path to the extraction point."
"Weird." Yamal chimed in fast.
"What do you mean?" Maya asked."
"No activity outside. None of the guards are moving. No patrols, no pursuit," Yamal replied. "Either they don't know what's happening... or they were never meant to intervene."