Then she saw it. A flicker of light—not a scope glint, but the reflection off a polished boot. Top of the collapsed clock tower, three hundred meters out. Her finger caressed the trigger.

Kirito turned to her slowly, saber dripping with phantom light. “Because the real fight hasn’t started yet. And I need you alive.”

He smiled—a thin, broken thing. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You just killed my squad.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered.