The alarm screamed through the mansion at 2:17 a.m.
Raven shot upright in bed, each beat a sharp strike against her chest. Red emergency lights flashed across the ceiling like blood. Before her hand could even reach the knife she kept on the nightstand, her bedroom door flew open with a hard bang.
Vincent stood in the doorway, already fully dressed in a black tactical shirt and vest, gun holstered at his hip. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp and focused.
"Caruso hit the northern port," he said. "Three explosions. Get dressed. We move now."
Raven didn't waste time asking questions. She threw on dark pants and a fitted black shirt, strapped her knife to her thigh, and grabbed the pistol she had loaded only days earlier. Her hands moved on muscle memory. By the time she stepped into the hallway, Vincent was already walking fast toward the war room. She hurried to catch up, falling into step beside him without a word.
