Designation: RAM.

Origin: Rocasta, NRT.

Destination: COMMAND at REDACTED

-Contact made with LAMB. Her team still online, no losses.

-Assessment: CORVIUM worth an operation team. Suggest MERCY. Suggest a rush. LAMB will hand off and return to RED WEB.

-LAMB passing intelligence vital to SHIELDWALL and removal/transit.

-Returning to post.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: General REDACTED. Designation: DRUMMER.

Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, LAMB at Corvium, NRT.

-CORVIUM suggestion under advisement.

-Captain Farley will return to RED WEB in two days.

-COMMAND split on punishment as is.

-Awaiting intelligence.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: Captain REDACTED.

Designation: LAMB.

Origin: Corvium, NRT.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, COMMAND at REDACTED.

-Request a week.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

—You’re a special kind of stupid, kid. —RAM—

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: General REDACTED.

Designation: DRUMMER.

Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, LAMB at Corvium, NRT.

-Five days. No more negotiation.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

Somehow the farmhouse has begun to feel like a home.

Even with the collapsed roof, the tents wicked with humidity, and the silence of the woods. It’s the longest I’ve been anywhere since Irabelle, but that was always base. And while the soldiers there are the closest thing I have to family, I never could see the cold concrete and mazelike passages as anything more than a way station. A place to train and wait for the next assignment.

Not so with the ruin on the doorstep of the killing grounds, in the shadow of a grave city.

“That’s it,” I tell Cara, and lean back against the closet wall.

She nods and folds away the broadcaster. “Nice to see you all chatting again.”

Before I can laugh, Tristan’s neat knock jars the shuttered excuse for a door. “Got company.”

Barrow.

“Duty calls,” I grumble as I scoot past Cara, bumping her in the closed space. Wrenching open the door, I’m surprised to find Tristan standing so close, his usual nervous energy on overdrive.

“Spotters got him this time, finally,” he says. On another day, he might be proud, but something about this sets him off. I know why. We never see Barrow coming. So why today? “Signaled it’s important—”

Behind him, the farmhouse door bangs open, revealing a red-faced Barrow flanked by Cris and Little Coop.

One look at his terrified face is enough.

“Scatter,” I snap.

They know what it means. They know where to go.

A hurricane moves through the farmhouse, taking home with it. The guns, the provisions, our gear disappears in a practiced heartbeat, shoved into bags and packs. Cris and Little Coop are already gone, into the trees, to get as high as they can. Their mirrors and birdcalls will carry the message to the others in the woods. Tristan supervises the rest, all while loading his long rifle.