Several people stood together, each wearing matching black tactical uniforms—the kind you’d expect to see in an elite SWAT team or military special ops group.
As soon as they spotted her, one of the men stepped forward and greeted her, his tone brisk but polite. “Hello, you must be Ms. Davis?”
Camila Davis forced herself to look alert, masking her exhaustion with a practiced smile. She nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Camila Davis.”
The man gave her a quick once-over—not in a sleazy way, just a curious, professional assessment—then nodded and cut straight to the chase. “I’m Steven Edwards, captain of the special ops team. Sorry for the abrupt summons, Ms. Davis. Situation here’s pretty urgent, so I hope you’ll forgive the rush.”
Camila just shrugged. She might be tired, but she wasn’t the delicate type.
“No worries, Mr. Edwards. If it’s urgent, let’s not waste time. Just fill me in—what’s going on with your team? I’ve been traveling since I got the call, so I’m in the dark here. Is someone hurt? Or is it something else?”
Steven shook his head and started leading her inside. “Honestly, I’m not sure. That’s why we need you. Our medics… they can’t figure it out.”
Camila frowned, curiosity piqued. Couldn’t figure it out? That didn’t sound like a typical injury. Poison? But even the weirdest toxins usually leave some trace.



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