The plaza had become a cage of white light.
Floodlamps burned through the ruin's dust, cutting sharp edges into every shadow. Drones circled overhead in disciplined arcs, their mechanical whine layered with the low pulse of abyssal resonators mounted on the armored transports. The sound was wrong—deep, bone-vibrating, like a predator's growl translated into machinery.
Keller pulled Lin down behind the jagged carcass of a collapsed tram. The old steel groaned beneath their weight. Min-joon crouched on Lin's other side, keeping one hand clenched tight on his sleeve, as if terrified he'd vanish into the ground if he let go. Hwan hovered just behind them, his face pale, eyes locked on the noose tightening around them.
Through the comm-chatter echoing from the soldiers' helmets came crisp orders:
"Resonators at maximum output. Sector three—cut off exit routes. Sector five—drones hold altitude at sixty meters. Command unit standing by for capture confirmation."
