Strike — Hidden

Korr looked at his team. At the four civilians. At the red emergency lights pulsing like a heartbeat. He thought of the child in Idlib. The choice he’d made. This was another one.

“Always.”

“Singh, cut the main power feed to the refinery’s floodlights. Meier, rig the server room with a delayed charge. We’ll let Rashidi think we’re making a last stand. Then we go through the oil. We hold our breath, and we swim.” Hidden Strike