No one answered.
Ava cycled the bolt. Third target, moving too fast. She waited, not rushed, not emotional. She fired again. Three shots, three down, clean. She didn’t count out of pride. She counted because numbers mattered. They always had.
Inside the command room, a young marine stared at the security feed in disbelief.
“Sir, I think someone out there is hunting them.”
The duty officer swallowed.
“We don’t have a sniper assigned.”
Ava shifted position, already anticipating the smuggler’s next move. They changed tactics now. Go inside. Force close quarters. They always did.
She abandoned the window and disappeared into the stairwell before anyone could even think to look for her.
As Marines regrouped, dragging wounded to cover and shouting orders over the storm, a single thought spread through the room, quiet, unsettling, impossible to ignore.
Someone here knows exactly what they’re doing.
And as the smugglers breached the outer door, unaware they were already down three men, Ava chambered another round and whispered to herself, calm as ever,
“Don’t make me do this the hard way.”
The next shot came from inside the building.
The first smuggler through the door never saw it coming. He kicked the emergency entrance open with a boot wrapped in white tape. Rifle up, breath fogging inside his mask, expecting panicked nurses and marines scrambling to find cover.
Instead, the light snapped back on. Not fully, just enough. Ava stood at the end of the corridor, calm as a held breath. Rifle already shouldered.
He fired first. He missed.
She didn’t.
The shot was deafening indoors. A thunderclap that rattled ceiling panels and sent a shock wave down the hall. The smuggler collapsed backward, rifle skidding across the tile. His partner behind him froze, not from fear, but confusion. This wasn’t how the playbook went.
Inside the hospital, Marines pushed wounded back behind overturned gurnies and steel carts. Weapons trained on doorways. Someone shouted for a medic. Someone else shouted for a count. The storm outside howled louder, as if mocking the sudden order trying to take shape inside.
Ava moved, not running, sliding, stepping, vanishing between cover points she’d memorized weeks ago under the excuse of learning the building. She dropped the rifle behind a column, switched to her sidearm without looking, and took a knee.
Two smugglers rushed the corridor together, stacking tight, professional. She waited until the first crossed the red line in her head. Two shots, one breath. Both went down.
The Marines stared.
“Who the hell is that?” one whispered.
Another shook his head.
“That’s not one of ours,”
Ava didn’t hear them. She was already listening for something else. The change in rhythm. The smugglers had stopped charging. They were thinking now.
That was dangerous.
Up on the second floor, glass shattered as a flashbang rolled across the nurse’s station. The blast was blinding, concussive. A corman screamed as he hit the floor, hands over his ears.
Ava flinched once, then forced herself forward through the haze. She passed a marine crouched behind a cart, eyes wide. He looked up at her scrubs, now dusted with soot, and blurted,
“Ma’am, you need to get back.”
She pressed a finger to her lips. He obeyed without knowing why.
Around the corner, two smugglers swept the ward. rifles tracking beds, checking shadows. They were hunting for something specific now. Not supplies, not prisoners.
Ava recognized the behavior instantly. They were looking for the shooter.
She leaned out, fired once, retreated before the echo finished bouncing. One smuggler went down, clutching his leg, screaming curses in a language she didn’t bother identifying. The other sprayed rounds blindly, chewing through plastic curtains and bed frames.
Ava waited. When he paused to reload, she ended it.
Five.
She took a breath slower this time. Somewhere deep in her chest, an old part of her woke up fully. The part that counted angles instead of heartbeats. The part that didn’t ask permission.
Downstairs, the marine duty officer finally found his voice.
“All units, fall back to triage and hold. Whoever’s engaging is buying us time.”
Buying time.
Ava almost smiled.
The smugglers regrouped in the loading bay, snowblowing in through the halfopen door. Their leader slammed a fist into a steel crate.
“This was supposed to be quiet,” he snarled. “We’re losing men.”
Another shook his head, eyes wild.
“This isn’t Marines. Someone else is here.”
He was right.
They tried a new approach. Smoke. Thick choking clouds poured into the hallways. Fire alarm shrieking. Sprinklers activated. Turning floors slick. Visibility worse. Perfect cover.
Ava dropped prone, crawling beneath the smoke layer, breath steady, eyes burning but focused. She popped up behind a smuggler who was coughing, mask pulled loose. One strike, silent, six. She dragged his body into a supply al cove and stripped the ammo without hesitation.
Her radio crackled for the first time. Not marine frequency.
“Ghost,” a voice said, distorted by interference. “We know you’re there.”
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