Dr. Raymond Holt said it loud enough for the whole station to hear, the way he said most things, as if volume were a form of proof. Clare Mercer didn't flinch. She kept her eyes on the chart in front of her, pen steady, expression flat. Behind her, two other nurses traded a glance that had become a kind of shorthand between them over the last two months. Again.

The hospital lobby was a battleground.

At the center of the grand entrance stood Colonel Vance’s former executive officer turned rogue contractor, Sterling—the same man who had posed as a federal agent earlier that evening. He was backed by four remaining mercenaries, frantically trying to breach the secure server room to destroy the hospital’s security footage.

"Move! We’re out of time!" Sterling screamed at his men. "Find the drive Vance’s daughter hid before the local police arrive!"

"You're looking for this?"

Clare’s voice echoed down from the grand balcony overlooking the lobby.

Sterling whirled around, raising his rifle. Above him, illuminated by the flashing red emergency lights, stood Clare Mercer. In her hand, she held a small, titanium flash drive she had retrieved from inside Odin’s collar mechanism while in the ICU.

"Maya wasn't just driving home tonight, Sterling," Clare announced, her voice echoing off the high marble walls. "She was delivering her father’s classified investigation file to the United States Attorney. The file that proves you and your contractor group sold stolen military munitions to foreign syndicates!"

"Kill her!" Sterling roared.

Before his men could raise their weapons, a flashbang grenade plummeted from the upper mezzanine, exploding in a blinding flash of light and deafening thunder directly over the mercenaries' heads.

BANG-FLASH!

Disoriented and blinded, the mercenaries stumbled backward.

Captain James Vance dropped from the balcony like an avenging shadow, landing heavily on the marble floor. His weapon barked four times in rapid succession—four perfectly placed shots that dropped the remaining bodyguards instantly.

Sterling scrambled backward, reaching for his sidearm, but Odin launched across the polished floor like a missile, clamping his jaws onto Sterling’s wrist with crushing force.

Sterling screamed in agony as the gun clattered away.

"Odin, hold!" Vance commanded, stepping over the writhing contractor and placing the barrel of his SIG Sauer directly against Sterling’s forehead.

"Please... James... we were brothers!" Sterling sobbed, blood pouring from his arm.

"Brothers don't try to murder a man's daughter," Vance whispered coldly.

Before Vance could pull the trigger, Clare stepped down the stairs, placing her hand gently over his weapon. "Don't, James. Not like this. Let the justice system tear his life apart. His files are already uploaded to the FBI main server."

Vance stared at Sterling for three long seconds, his finger hovering over the trigger. Slowly, he took a breath, lowered his pistol, and looked up at Clare.

Outside, the wail of dozens of police sirens sliced through the rain. Flashing red and blue lights illuminated the frosted windows of the trauma center as state troopers and federal marshals surrounded the building.

Dr. Raymond Holt crept out from behind the reception desk, his face pale, his hands trembling as he saw the scene of absolute devastation.

"Nurse... Nurse Mercer..." Holt stammered, looking at the dead mercenaries, then at Vance, then at Clare. "What... who are you people?"