The alarm didn't sound human.
It wasn't loud so much as it was *insistent*, a sharp, rising wail that clawed its way through concrete and steel, drilling straight into the bones of anyone unlucky enough to hear it. Red lights snapped on along the corridor ceiling, bathing the underground base in a pulsing glow that made every shadow twitch and stretch.
Someone down the hall swore.
Another door slammed open.
Boots hit the floor.
Evan was already awake.
He sat up on his bunk before the second alarm cycle finished, fingers hooking automatically around the strap of his wrist monitor as it buzzed against his skin. The screen flashed a warning he'd never seen before. Not a drill. Not a test. No neat little code he could mentally sort into "urgent" or "ignore until coffee."
Just one word, stark and unhelpful.
**DEPLOY.**
"Well," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, "that's new."
Around him, the rest of Barracks C erupted into chaos. Lockers banged open. Someone tripped over their own boots. A half-asleep voice yelled something about stolen socks, which earned them a shouted threat from across the room.
Evan pulled on his shirt and jacket in one smooth motion, his muscles already felt warm, energy humming just under the skin. He'd spent a year learning how to draw on it without tearing himself apart. Everyone here had.
Enhancement wasn't magic.
It was discipline.
Control.
And right now, it was already active.
His unit wasn't supposed to be on standby tonight. They'd been cleared for rest after a long week of simulations and false alarms. Whatever this was, it had punched straight through protocol.
That alone made his stomach tighten.
His wrist monitor buzzed again, this time with a location tag and a priority marker flashing angry orange.
*Forest perimeter. North sector.*
He frowned.
"That's… close," someone said behind him.
Evan glanced over his shoulder. Marcus, his team's heavy hitter, was wrestling with his armor straps like they'd personally offended him.
"Too close," Evan said. "Which means either someone screwed up the sensors again, or—"
"—or we're about to have a very bad night," Marcus finished.
They shared a look. Neither of them liked that option.
The corridor outside the barracks was already packed with movement. Personnel streamed toward the armory and deployment bay, some running, some walking fast enough to make it clear they weren't panicking. Yet. Overhead speakers barked clipped instructions that contradicted each other just enough to be worrying.
Evan jogged alongside his team, slipping into formation without thinking about it. This was the part he was good at. Movement. Reaction. Doing what needed to be done before fear had time to catch up.
As they rounded a corner, he caught sight of the other unit mobilizing across the bay. Team Two. Competitive, loud, annoyingly confident.
One of them raised a hand in mock salute as they passed. "Race you to the mystery problem," he called.
Evan didn't bother responding. He was too busy watching the way the base itself seemed to tense, lights flickering in brief, uneven bursts. His monitor ticked softly, tracking something he couldn't see.
Energy, the techs would say later.
The reason they trained.
The reason they were here.
And the reason his stomach felt tight.
They cleared the final checkpoint and broke into a run.
Not a normal run.
Enhanced strides ate up distance, boots barely touching the ground as the base perimeter vanished behind them. Evan felt the controlled burn in his legs, the familiar balance between strength and restraint. Push too hard and you paid for it later. Push just enough and the world blurred.
The forest loomed ahead, dark and silent.
They slowed as they crossed the tree line.
The moment Evan stepped under the canopy, something felt off.
No insects.
No wind.
Just the crunch of leaves and controlled breathing.
"That's unsettling," Marcus muttered. "I trained a year for this and it's still creepy. Calling it now, False spike. Probably a raccoon on steroids."
"A raccoon doesn't trip a full deploy," Evan said.
"Sure it does," Marcus replied. "Have you *met* raccoons?"
A few of the others chuckled. The sound was tight, brittle. Nobody really believed it.
His jaw was clenched.
He hadn't realized it until now.
The target zone was less than a mile from the base, deep enough into the forest that the floodlights didn't quite reach. The second they arrived, sound dropped away.
Evan raised a fist, signaling the team to slow. His monitor had stopped ticking.
"Status?" someone asked over the comms.
Evan checked his screen again, frowning. "Energy reading's gone."
"What do you mean, gone?" Team Two's leader snapped from their flank.
"I mean it's not there anymore."
The forest pressed in around them, trees standing tall and unnaturally still. Evan's senses prickled, the faint buzz he'd learned to associate with active enhancement fading into nothing.
Whatever had triggered the alarm wasn't here now.
Which meant either it moved…
Or it never belonged.
"Spread out," the commander ordered. "Eyes open."
They advanced slowly, scanning the undergrowth. Evan's gaze snagged on a patch of disturbed leaves ahead, the ground pressed flat in a rough oval.
"There," he said, pointing.
They approached cautiously, weapons lowered but ready.
At first, Evan thought it was a fallen log.
Then the log shifted.
"Oh," someone said. "Oh. That's… not a log."
The figure lay half-curled in the grass, dark hair fanned around her head, clothes rumpled and smeared with dirt. She moved slightly, one hand twitching, lips parting as if she were trying to speak.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then laughter broke the silence.
"Is this a joke?" someone from Team Two snorted. "Did we just get deployed for *this*?"
Evan felt the world tilt.
"No," he said quietly.
He was already moving.
"Hey," another voice added, amused. "You sure she's not just—"
"Stop," Evan snapped.
The word cracked through the air sharper than the alarm ever had.
He dropped to his knees beside her, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over her shoulders before anyone else could get a better look. His hands were steady, even as his pulse hammered.
"Evan?" Marcus said, confusion creeping into his voice. "You know her?"
Evan swallowed.
"That's my sister."
The laughter died instantly.
Someone swore under their breath.
She stirred again, murmuring something that made no sense, fingers curling as if grasping at empty air. Her eyes remained closed, lashes fluttering faintly.
"She's dreaming," Evan said, his voice tight. "When she dreams, she does this."
"Why was she out here?" the commander asked.
Evan shook his head. "I don't know."
And that terrified him.
They scanned the area again, more carefully this time. The ground bore faint scorch marks, leaves curled inward as if exposed to heat. Instruments flickered uselessly, unable to pick up anything abnormal.
Nothing.
No energy.
No trace.
Just his sister, unconscious in the dirt.
"She shouldn't be here," Marcus muttered. "This sector's restricted."
"She shouldn't be anywhere," Evan replied. "She hates the outdoors."
That earned a weak huff from someone, but the tension didn't ease.
"Base is close," Marcus said quietly. "We should move."
Evan didn't wait for permission.
He slid an arm under her knees and another behind her shoulders, lifting her easily. Enhancement made it effortless, but the weight still grounded him. Real. Fragile.
"She's staying with me," Evan said.
No one argued.
They ran back the way they came, faster now, boots pounding the forest floor. Evan adjusted his grip as she stirred, her head lolling briefly against his shoulder before settling.
The base lights came into view far too quickly.
That didn't make him feel better.
The debrief room was too bright.
Evan stood off to the side as medics worked, his sister now wrapped in a thermal blanket, sensors plastered across her skin. She looked small under the harsh lights, all sharp intelligence and aloof detachment reduced to slow, even breathing.
"She'll be fine," one of the medics said eventually. "No injuries. Vitals are stable."
Evan nodded, though relief didn't fully reach him.
Across the room, senior officers conferred in low voices. He caught fragments as they glanced his way.
"—reading vanished—"
"—no explanation—"
"—containment issue—"
Finally, one of them turned, expression hard.
"Cadet Lieutenant," she said. "Your sister is in serious trouble."
Evan straightened. "For what, ma'am?"
"For being at the epicenter of a classified event she had no authorization to be near," the officer replied coolly. "Until we determine how she got there, she will remain under supervision."
Evan's jaw tightened.
"And if you don't like that," she added, "you're welcome to file a complaint."
He didn't.
He just looked back at his sister, her brow furrowing slightly as if even unconscious, she knew something was wrong.
The room hummed with unspoken questions.
What had triggered the alarm?
Why had it vanished?
And why had it led them straight to her?
No one had answers.
And that, more than anything else, unsettled Evan.
Because this wasn't over.
It had barely begun.