The transport ship Valkyrie descended through Sirius Prime's atmosphere with the controlled precision of a military operation that had been rehearsed a thousand times. Four hundred and seven of the Earth Defense Force's finest soldiers sat in perfect formation, their Beast Gear humming with contained power, weapons checked and rechecked, abilities primed for immediate deployment.
Cassandra felt the familiar weight of command as she studied the tactical displays. Everything looked normal—standard planetary composition, breathable atmosphere, no obvious signs of massive destruction. But the complete communications blackout from Pierce's team told a different story.
"Ma'am," Lieutenant Morrison called from the sensor station, his voice tight with sudden tension. "We're picking up a single heat signature approximately two klicks from the designated landing zone."
"Clarify 'single,'" Cassandra ordered, moving to look over his shoulder at the display.
