"Lieutenant Talon! Emergency flare—central market!"
The office door slammed open as a breathless officer in a dark navy-blue uniform rushed inside, his boots leaving scuffed trails on the polished floor.
Lieutenant Talon's eyes snapped up from the paperwork he was reviewing. His chair scraped back as he stood, voice sharp. "What happened? Speak clearly."
The officer took a quick breath, chest rising. "Sir, a red flare was fired—standard distress signal for officer down. Location is confirmed as the central market. Visual confirmation from three patrols."
Talon's face hardened immediately, the atmosphere in the room shifting.
"Which unit was assigned to that patrol zone?" he asked, already striding toward the door.
"Team Three, sir. Jareth, Renford, Mikel, Thom, and Rourke."
Talon froze for a half-second. Not because of doubt—but because he knew exactly what this meant.
