The warning hit Kael half a second before the shot.
It was not a sound.
It was the way the air changed against his skin, a tiny shift in pressure his nerves had learned to recognize in Twelve‑North corridors right before a stun round slammed into the wall beside his head.
He moved on instinct.
"Down," he snapped.
Rin dropped before the word finished.
The bolt tore through the space where her chest had been and hit the holo‑billboard at the edge of the plaza.
The ad glitched, colors smearing, then exploded into a shower of static.
People screamed.
Kael hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
He rolled behind the base of the dry fountain, concrete scraping his palms, the taste of dust and ozone in his mouth.
Another bolt cracked against the stone.
Chips stung his cheek.
Rin slid in beside him, eyes wide but steady.
"Sniper," she said.
"Registry patrol, more likely," Kael said.
He risked a glance over the edge.
The plaza was chaos.
