Mira stares, furious and betrayed. Sirens in the distance. Kara emerges from the shadows, hands empty, rain on her coat.
KARA (whisper, sincere) You could have come to me. We could’ve fixed it together.
MIRA This is it. No detours.
Mira taps the pack, feeling its weight.
Mira exhales, then bolts into the stairwell.
KARA (over radio) Hold position. Let the kid run. I want a clean handover.