Their return to the Karpa Luna military base was a triumphant one. Throughout their time in the Haze worry had grown steadily in Amber's gut over whether the ends justified the means; whether they had pushed too far in the name of capturing the man leading the resistance movement. Now those doubts began to fade. It had been a tense few weeks, but Darien, harsh as his logic had been, had seen them through it.

She marvelled sometimes at the knife-edge he seemed to teeter on, millimetres from total disaster but always keeping himself from slipping. He might have been returning from a lengthy suspension, but the prolonged absence hadn't blunted his natural sharpness. Even Vass seemed to have grudgingly accepted that fact, keeping any scathing remarks to himself since the successful operation in the Haze. Despite the weight of emotions that she now let run free, Amber allowed herself a glimmer of pride.

Although the assault teams hadn't come back unscathed, they'd largely avoided any major injuries. The only exception was Whikker, who'd been caught by a full spread of bullets. Most of them had been stopped by her armour, but three had penetrated into her leg and torso. Vandal's medic along with Hekket had managed to stabilise her on site, stopping the bleeding and patching her up as best they could. Now the field hospital at Karpa Luna base was ready to receive her, with a cadre of military surgeons standing by to operate and remove the bullets. According to the two medics, as long as she received swift treatment she would make a full recovery, eventually.

And trading one badly wounded operative for a prize like Parker? Even Amber couldn't deny it was a worthwhile exchange.

The Blink contingent trooped onto the base, ragged, exhausted but with heads held high. Daylight was breaking as they returned, casting a burning orange glow over the gun-metal grey buildings as the sun rose large and lurid on the horizon. Two members of Vandal Squad carried Whikker on a field stretcher – she was awake and in good spirits, all things considered. Parker accompanied them too, frogmarched between Idas and Uther, cuffed and with a black bag over his head – the prize for over a month of hard graft in the harshest environment Ravine had to offer.

Amber smiled with relief as they handed him over to the dragoons. They'd held up their end of the deal and captured someone that had been running rings around the local authorities for months. A quartet of soldiers dragged him off into the bowels of the base and she didn't even bother speculating on the unpleasantness that surely awaited the rebel leader.

A moment later a team of medical staff arrived with a state-of-the-art trauma cradle, its stark white exterior standing out violently against the dark functionality of the base. With the speed of experience they transferred Whikker from the stretcher and in less than a minute they were dashing back off across the concourse, exchanging swift, clipped observations on their new patient.

She saw Darien having a quiet word with Taggs as the medical staff guided Whikker away on the hovering trauma carriage. Vandal's leader was still giving the effort of a smile, but she could see the tension in his face. Darien leaned close and then, to her surprise, pulled the other operative into a hug. She couldn't hear the words that passed between them, but after a moment Darien pulled back, clapping Taggs on the shoulder.

Then Taggs and the remaining operatives from Vandal set off in pursuit of their injured squad mate. Darien understood that their companion's well-being meant more to them than any debrief from their commanding officer.

"Bring it in, people," Darien called as Vandal Squad disappeared in pursuit of the medical staff. The remaining squads gathered around him expectantly.

"I'm proud of you," he continued. "That was a long op – longer than any of us are used to, but every single person here pulled their weight and more. I can't tell you how much longer we're going to be stuck here, but every time we hit our mark, we bring everyone one step closer to the end of all this. So stick with it." Then he allowed himself a smile, unclipping his carbine from his chest. "So right now I've got one more order for you. Go and relax. For the next twenty-four hours you are off the clock."

All the tension of the weeks spent in the Haze sloughed off in an instant, and whoops and cheers erupted from the assembled operatives. With her good arm Amber exchanged high fives and hugs with several of them, allowing herself to laugh for the first time in what felt like forever. She saw Idas and the girl from Panther embracing for a lot longer than friendly camaraderie decreed, but before she could formulate a knowing smirk, Hekket was suddenly there, wrapping his arms around her and heaving her into a tight hug.

Amber giggled, slinging her good arm around him and tucking her chin over his shoulder, letting her eyes drift shut and her body unwind for a blissful moment. After a few seconds they pulled apart and she looked at his face, her eyes immediately drawn to the fresh bandage that swathed the right side of his face.

"How's it feel?" she asked.

He smirked. "Just a big old scratch. I'm fine."

"And you'll look so interesting with a great gnarly scar."

"Hah, I don't need the reminder. As soon as this is healed I'm getting scar tissue removed. I liked my face just the way it was, thank you very much."

She pouted mockingly. "Wasted opportunity."

"Never mind me. What about you?" He inclined his head towards her injured arm.

"Still hurts when I move it," Amber conceded. "But it's not so bad. Should be back on the range in a couple of days."

"Let me know when you're ready and I'll come down too – I'll keep an eye on you." He glanced around at the other operatives who were dispersing in the direction of the barracks. "In the meantime, what you going to do with all your free time?"

"Me?" Amber grinned. "The first thing I'm going to do is take a shower."

*

After spending weeks in the roasting chemical smog of the Haze, Amber basked in the unfamiliar sensation of being clean. She spend almost half an hour scouring herself from head to toe before changing into her casual Blink fatigues. Even the simple black trousers and hooded jacket felt like luxury after spending so long swaddled in the ragged blast cloaks, worker boots and goggles that their operation had necessitated.

Sweeping her thick black hair back into a long ponytail, she left the jacket hanging open, revealing the black top beneath, and tied on a pair of comfy black trainers before striding from the barrack room, making her way to the mess hall where most of the other operatives could be found. The buzz of noise echoing down the corridor towards her told her she'd been right in that assumption.

Almost all of the operatives were there, with the exception of the squad leaders who still needed to give their after-action reports to Merlynn in the command building. The group from Tundra were playing a game of holo-darts; four of Panther were deeply engrossed in a game on their data slates. A handful of others were watching entertainment casts on the screens built into one wall of the mess hall. She noted wryly that there was no sign of Idas or his apparently special friend.

She found Hekket with a few operatives from other squads chatting as they lounged around one of the tables. Kelsey Brannigan was there, and her cheery demeanour boded well, and she recognised Vandal's medic, Isaac. There was a girl from Rigel Squad that she'd never really spoken to, but that didn't stop her crossing the room and sitting down between her and Hekket.

"Hey, hey." Hekket gave her a lazy wave, reclining in his seat with his feet slung up on the table. "How was your shower?"

"Glorious." She grinned, leaning back and looking at the others. "What've you all been doing?"

"Honestly, not a whole lot," he replied. "I think everyone just needs some time to unwind."

"You know, we all heard stories about Ravine," Brannigan murmured. The young operative was curled up on her chair, feet tucked beneath her and jacket draped over her body like a blanket. "Just never thought it would be quite like... this."

"How's Whikker doing?" Amber asked softly.

"Docs say she's going to be just fine," Isaac replied. He was a lean-framed kid, with a long, gaunt face and a hook of a nose. He scratched at short fuzz of dark curls on his head as he spoke. "None of the rounds splintered so they were able to get all the metal out. Then it was just a case of stitching her back up and keeping her under observation to make sure there are no complications." He shrugged. "The best news we were going to get, all things considered."

She nodded, smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring way. "Glad to hear it."

"She's tough as nails, that girl."

The group whiled away an hour in the mess hall, talking, playing games and getting some much-needed food into their systems. Amber could feel the knots of tension easing out of her body, a sense of normality returning to her mind. The sheer amount of time they'd spent out in the field working their way into Parker's confidence had been draining. Normally Blink operations were fast – in and out in a matter of hours normally – always returning to HQ at regular intervals to rest and recharge. The fact they'd stuck it out for so long thoroughly vindicated Smith's choice of teams. They were the best of Blink – all of them.

But just as she started feeling like they might have ignited a light at the end of the tunnel, a commotion rose from the operatives watching the vid screens. Frowning in annoyance, she swivelled in her seat to look at them. What she saw made her heart sink like a rock. The screens flickered, flashing and twisting, glimpses of emerald green spilling through in snippets. Slowly she stood up, reaching back and tapping Hekket on the shoulder. His head whipped around, and when he saw what was happening he shot upright, moving alongside her.

"No, no, no," Brannigan breathed, shaking her head.

A creeping sense of cold inevitability descended on Amber as she watched the line of screens, eyes widening as the entertainment programmes finally vanished. In their place across every single display flared up a silhouette in front of a wall of green. The same silhouette they'd been sent to capture. For a brief instant confusion churned through her mind before she reached the grimly obvious conclusion.

They had the wrong man.

A ripple of surprise passed through the operatives in the mess hall, young men and women exchanging disbelieving looks, expressions of bafflement and frustration filling their faces. Muted curses could be made out through the agitated hum as they slowly realised that all those weeks, and all the risks they'd taken, may have been for nothing.

"Ravine," the figure said, its distorted voice heavy with what sounded like regret. "Today is a sad day, for all of us. We live in hard times, where basic rights now have to be fought for. And I am willing to fight. That does not mean, however, that I kill indiscriminately. We are not fighting you, the people, we are fighting for you." A pause. Amber's jaw tightened and she folded her arms tightly, part of her wanting to smash the screen instead of listening to another word. But she couldn't drag her gaze away. "But those friends of yours? The people who came riding down from the sky like heroes? They don't give a damn about you – not really. They only care about silencing voices like mine and returning everything to the same, broken status quo. They are murdering my people, and those they don't kill, they take for torture."

Amber bit her lip, shaking her head slowly, achingly aware of what was coming. Sure enough the screen changed, the image of the man now replaced by four roving shots that filled the screen. She recognised the interior of the building on display – Parker's headquarters in the Haze. The rebels had taken the time to film the aftermath of the Blink raid. They'd even left the bodies where they'd fallen. A tiny kernel of hate twisted her gut. Supposedly those who'd died were comrades, maybe even friends, but now they were just another tool to be used to beat the colonial occupation with.

The cameras panned across the bodies, crumpled shapes in the gloom, bloodied smears on the walls and floor now laid bare in the light. In tight corridors and across the gaping openness of the loading bay more and more bodies were revealed. Other shots showed wounded men and women, wrapped with dirty, blood-stained bandages, shuffling defeatedly down passages. Some carried body bags.

"Most of those people were stunned," Hekket hissed, anger sizzling in his tone. "We were in and out of that place in minutes. This bastard's turning it into a massacre."

Amber grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly, knowing the pain he was feeling right now. The violence they'd experienced on Ravine didn't come as naturally to him as it did to people like Darien or Vass, but he hadn't hesitated; hadn't failed to step up to the mark. And now as a reward he and the others who'd participated in the raid were being painted as murderers. His fingers closed around hers in response. She glanced at him but his eyes were rooted to the screen, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes shimmering as he watched on.

"Is this what heroes do? These are the people that claim to be saving you. They will kill to keep us in the dirt."

Then the screen flashed back again, returning to the silhouette. Hardness crept into the voice like an edge of steel, a tone Amber recognised. It was the glint of barely contained anger that she'd heard in Darien ever since she'd joined Blink – the thought sent a chill up her spine.

"I warned you," the figure said coldly. "Every one you capture, ten more will take their place. Every one you kill becomes a martyr. You ignored me." A pause hung grimly in the air. The figure seemed to tense, even as a silhouette. Then it spoke again. "I dare you to ignore this."

For a moment it seemed like nothing had happened. Amber licked dry lips and the operatives in the room exchanged worried looks.

But then she felt it.

Amber had no idea what had caused it, but she knew it was no coincidence. For a long, rumbling second the very plates beneath her feet shook with the force of an earthquake.

The screen went dead.