The first rocket-propelled grenade hit Alexander's office windows at exactly 12:47 AM.
I threw myself on top of Elena Vasquez as reinforced glass exploded inward like deadly confetti. The blast wave knocked Alexander backward into his desk, and the air filled with smoke and the acrid smell of high explosives.
"Move! Now!" I shouted, hauling Elena to her feet as a second RPG streaked past the gaping hole where the windows used to be.
Alexander rolled behind his overturned desk, assault rifle already in his hands. "They're not taking prisoners," he called over the sound of automatic gunfire echoing from the floors below.
Through the destroyed windows, I could see muzzle flashes from the surrounding buildings. Professional positioning, coordinated fields of fire, military-grade equipment. This wasn't some random hit squad—this was a full-scale military operation.
"How many?" Alexander asked, popping up to return fire.
