Lena gave a curt nod. A solo patrol was hardly an unusual assignment for her. She actually preferred it, free from the chatter and second‑guessing that often came with partnered missions.

Carver fixed her with a pointed look. “It’s your call, Hart. You can wait for backup if you want.”

She studied his face. Something in his tone felt off, but she brushed it aside. “I’m fine on my own,” she said firmly, her voice low. “Just give me the updated map and any intel you have.”

Half an hour later, she was strapping her gear onto a desert‑ready motorcycle. The sun had barely cleared the horizon, yet the air already carried the promise of brutal heat. She packed a canteen, an M4 carbine with a shortened barrel, a sidearm at her waist, and a small bag containing binoculars, extra magazines, and a satellite radio for emergency communication. As she rode off toward Elsencio, the desert wind whipping across her cheeks, she felt an odd sense of calm. The emptiness of the land mirrored the emptiness she’d long carried within.