The order came before dawn.
Sara received it first—slipped under the door like a threat wrapped in paper. By the time Curly sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, Sara was already dressed, her expression tight.
"Zara wants us assembled," Sara said quietly. "Now."
Angela groaned. "Again? What did we do this time?"
"Nothing," Sony replied, already standing. "Which is worse."
They moved fast. The corridors buzzed with a low, unsettled energy—boots on stone, murmurs cut short when footsteps approached. WAN Empire was awake in the way predators woke: alert, hungry, ready.
Zara waited near the armory, arms crossed. "This isn't punishment," she said before anyone could ask. "It's assignment."
Curly's pulse quickened. "Assignment?"
Zara's gaze lingered on her for half a second too long. "A supply convoy from LOS crossed the border last night. It's hidden somewhere along the old salt road. We need eyes. Quiet ones."
Angela swallowed. "You want us to spy?"
"You want to eat tomorrow?" Zara shot back. "Then you'll observe, report, and return. No heroics."
Sony nodded once. Micka shifted nervously.
Curly said nothing—but something in her chest tightened. LOS again. Always LOS.
---
They left at first light, cloaks drawn tight, blending into the pale morning. The salt road cut through dead grass and broken stone, a scar the empire never bothered to heal.
"Stay close," Sony murmured. "And listen more than you breathe."
They reached the ridge an hour later. Below, dust rose in controlled plumes. Vehicles—sleek, dark, unmistakably LOS—sat half-hidden beneath torn canvas.
Curly crouched, heart pounding. She counted men. Weapons. Routes.
A voice murmured behind them, low and calm. "You're early."
Angela nearly screamed.
Storm stepped into view, flanked by two operatives. His eyes flicked over the girls, assessing, then settled briefly on Curly.
"You weren't followed," he said. "Good."
Sony frowned. "This wasn't part of Zara's message."
Storm's mouth twitched. "Zara doesn't send slaves into a border zone without insurance."
Curly bristled—but bit back the retort.
"LOS is baiting us," Storm continued. "Convoy's light. Too light. They want us to strike."
"And will we?" Micka asked.
Storm didn't answer. He looked past them, toward the road.
---
Elsewhere, Danger stood atop a crumbling watchtower, wind tugging at his coat. Rhoda joined him, eyes narrowed.
"Storm's playing a careful game," she said. "Anna won't like careful."
Danger's jaw tightened. "She likes results."
"And you?" Rhoda asked softly.
He didn't look at her. "I like people coming back alive."
Rhoda followed his gaze. "Including her."
Danger exhaled. "Especially her."
---
The first shot cracked the air like a whip.
Chaos followed.
LOS soldiers scattered, moving too fast, too practiced. Smoke bloomed. Someone shouted orders in a language Curly didn't know—but understood in rhythm and intent.
"Down!" Sony yelled, pulling Angela behind a rock.
Curly flattened herself as bullets chewed dirt inches away. Her ears rang. Her hands shook.
Then a shadow fell over her.
Danger dropped beside her, weapon raised. "Don't move."
"I didn't plan to," Curly snapped, adrenaline sharp.
He fired—clean, precise—forcing LOS soldiers back. Storm's operatives moved in tandem, cutting off escape routes.
"This was never observation," Curly said.
"No," Danger replied. "It's a message."
"To who?"
Danger glanced toward the convoy. "To anyone watching."
A grenade exploded near the road, flipping a vehicle onto its side. Smoke thickened. LOS began to retreat—too easily.
Storm cursed. "They wanted this."
Danger grabbed Curly's arm. "We're pulling out."
She hesitated, eyes scanning the chaos—then nodded.
They ran.
---
They regrouped at dusk, bruised, shaken, alive.
Zara counted heads. "No losses," she said, relief cutting through her sternness. "That's rare."
Lady Anna arrived moments later, flanked by guards. Her gaze swept the group—and stopped on Curly.
"You were there," Anna said softly.
Curly met her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."
"And what did you see?"
Curly chose her words carefully. "LOS wasn't defending supplies. They were measuring response time."
Lady Anna smiled. "Good. You learn quickly."
Her eyes flicked to Danger, then back to Curly. "The next time they test us, we won't disappoint."
As Anna turned away, Curly felt it again—that sense of being measured, weighed against something unseen.
That night, as the empire settled into uneasy quiet, Curly lay awake.
Lines had shifted today.
Not borders.
Fault lines.
And once they cracked, nothing stayed buried for long.