The ground floor was chaos.
Minions poured in from every breach—the shattered main entrance, the ruined walls, the blown-out windows.
They moved in formation, rifles raised, black visors reflecting the burning light from outside. Their fire was deadly accurate, each burst short, on target.
The guards that had fallen back into the mansion had nowhere to go. Trapped between converging teams, they fired blind into smoke and shifting silhouettes. Muzzle flashes cut through the haze in violent strobe.
Kasanda and Han reached the stairwell landing above it all, Abraham still between them. The sight below stopped them cold.
Kasanda's eyes flicked over the floor—too many hostiles, too much crossfire. He crouched slightly, scanning for an opening. "Looks like they're really coming in from all sides," he muttered.
