The corridor shook with violence.

Shadows sliced through the dim light like blades, every movement sharp, every breath heavy with the weight of blood and memory. The air crackled with danger, thick enough to taste. Helena stood at the center of it—directing, calculating, controlling—her voice the only thread of order in the swirling chaos.

“Atlas, left knee—don’t overextend. Ares, rotate your shoulder—he’s baiting that angle,” she called, tone steady despite the ...