The grand foyer became a stage for a lethal dance. Maya moved with a desperate, frantic speed, her pistols barking until they clicked empty. She dropped them and drew her own combat knife. The Specter was a blur of white and steel, his curved daggers whistling through the air. He didn't just attack; he flowed, his movements calculated to exploit every gap in Maya's defense. Leo watched the screen, his heart in his throat, as a thin red line appeared on Maya's shoulder.