Spirits fell in sequence as three soldiers in royal blue advanced in practiced formation. When the last spirit dissolved into fading resonance, the unit regrouped. One soldier keyed the radio at his hip, cycling channels until the static cleared.
"Third Rapid Response Detachment to Overwatch," he called in flatly. "Area secured."
"Acknowledged," came the reply. "Good work, Operator Diaz. Return to city hall before sunrise. Over."
Diaz clipped the radio back onto his vest and adjusted his grip on the rifle as the squad moved away from Academy grounds.
"Third one this month," he whispered under his breath.
A squadmate scoffed. "B-tier. And none of them are in the reports."
Diaz frowned. "We sweep the perimeter daily before students arrive."
He waited to check the response of the other two soldiers.
"Doesn't sit right."
The squad leader stopped immediately, staring at Diaz with eyes that gave warning.
"You don't say that."
"I'm just— shouldn't we at least inform—"
"You're not saying anything," the leader cut in. "Orders come from the Capital. From the Premier himself. We execute them."
Diaz went quiet as they squeezed through the bushes and trees. Pylons came into view, their inactive frames marking the edge of the zone.
"Almost out of this maze," the rear soldier muttered. "I hope our detachment isn't called in tomorr–"
The forest cracked as a tree tore sideways through the air. The rear soldier vanished beneath pine branches and leaves.
"Captain! There's the spiri—"
Without saying a word, the Captain placed his hand above the muzzle of Diaz's rifle, not allowing him to take aim.
"No," the Captain said with a stern voice.
Diaz stared in confusion, "Sir?"
"Students are on campus now," the Captain said. "We will have to brush this one under the rug. Tomorrow's detachment will handle it."
The Academy disappeared behind them as they reached the road. By morning, no report would mention the tree or the fallen soldier.