The moonlight filtered through the narrow window of the DarkWatch barracks, casting harsh, angular shadows across Cassidy's small quarters. The room smelled faintly the dried herbs she kept hanging from the bedpost to ward off bad dreams. It was a sparse space, functional and utilitarian, reflecting the disciplined life she had carved out for herself since the DarkWatch took her in. Her uniform was folded with military precision on the wooden chair, the red bandana laid across it like a streak of blood against the dark fabric.

Cassidy sat on the edge of her bed, the springs creaking softly under her weight. She was stripped down to her thin cotton undershirt and shorts, the cool night air raising goosebumps along her athletic thighs and shoulders. Her fingers moved methodically as she cleaned her sidearm, the rhythmic motion of the cloth against metal providing a familiar comfort. Her mind, however, was not on the weapon. The visions had been more vivid lately the smell of copper and burnt wood, the sight of her parents' faces dissolving into the darkness. The guilt of being the sole survivor gnawed at her insides, a constant, quiet ache that she buried under layers of duty and training.

A shift in the air pressure made her spine stiffen. It wasn't a sound the barracks were quiet enough that she could hear the distant laughing of other agents down the hall but a change in the very atmosphere of the room. The sudden presence. She didn't reach for the gun immediately that would be a rookie mistake, a reaction born of panic rather than training but her muscles coiled, ready to spring. The shadows in the corner of her bedroom door arch seemed to deepen, coalescing into something more solid than mere darkness.