The first hour after the surge was triage.

The second was resurrection.

Doran moved through the ruins of her command center like a surgeon operating on a dying patient — hands steady, eyes precise, every movement measured and deliberate. The floor still crackled with heat in places, and the air was thick with the smell of insulation and carbonized plastic.

Her agents worked in silence around her. No one dared speak above a whisper; the director’s presence filled the room like static ...