The medical bay looked like a war zone—which, technically, it was.
Atheon's rampage through ant swarms and Covenant agents had left the corridors littered with corpses, debris, and shrapnel. Bodies in various states of dismemberment decorated the floor. Blood—human and ichor both—pooled in corners and soaked into stone.
The medical staff had retreated to interior rooms with the wounded, leaving the outer corridors as killing ground between different armed groups who didn't quite trust each other enough to lower weapons.
Bright stood with his Academy candidate group—Duncan, Mara, Bessia, Kora, and Silas—in defensive formation near where Estovia lay recovering.
Across from them, Vaelith's hooded operatives maintained their own positions, weapons ready, faces concealed, identities carefully obscured.
The tension was thick enough to cut.
