Beck was still smoking when he heard a few sharp screams from inside. Before he could react, a shadow bolted out of a side door and vanished into the night.
He stubbed out his cigarette, jaw tight, and strode into the room. “What happened?”
Three guys were sprawled out cold on the floor, heads bleeding. The rest were kneeling beside them, checking for signs of life, completely lost on what to do.
Beck shot a quick look in the direction Clara had run, then snapped, “Go after her.”
They all knew each other—usually on good terms, nobody wanted to leave their friends bleeding. But right now, Beck was in charge, and nobody dared argue.
Clara had a huge head start. Most people would have run for the lights, for safety, but not her. She dove deeper into the darkness, slipping through shadows like she belonged there.
Maybe it was all the time she’d spent with Z—her eyes had adjusted. She could see in the dark better than any of them.
Everyone chasing her made the same mistake—they assumed she’d go for the light.
A few hundred meters in, Beck stopped and turned. “Timmy?”
He took a breath, thinking fast. “You guys keep going straight. The rest of you, come with me—this way.”
Clara had taken out three men in seconds. She wasn’t someone you could underestimate. The usual tactics wouldn’t cut it.
Plus, he’d promised Megan he’d get this done, no screw-ups this time.
They searched for another two kilometers, flashlights darting through the trees, but it was useless—Clara was gone. She’d melted into the dark.
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