Tessa's hands were shaking.
She hated that.
She could stitch a wound blindfolded. Could field-reset a bio-stimulator while sprinting. But now, standing in the middle of her dorm room, fingers fumbling through pockets and straps, she couldn't get the zipper on her med bag to close.
She forced it. The metal teeth rasped together. The bag jerked.
Not clean. Not quiet. But done.
Her breath fogged slightly in the air. The ventilation had slowed—meaning the override was already active. Whoever had triggered it was controlling the oxygen flow in her sector.
No alarms. No sirens.
Just silence.
And Tessa had learned, fast, that in the Academy, silence was the last thing that happened before control.
She threw the med bag over her shoulder, zipped her hoodie, and crossed to the door.
The lock blinked red when she tried it.
Already dead.
She didn't panic. She pulled a bypass tool from her belt—standard in her first aid kit. Not legal, but not traceable either.
