She didn’t look like a lieutenant. She looked like his big sister, and it wrecked him. He reached out and gently touched her wrist. It was cool under his fingers. He didn’t squeeze. “I thought I could handle seeing you like this,” he said, voice low. “Turns out I was full of shit.”
He looked up at the monitors, at the vent, then back at her. “Mom would’ve been proud of you,” he added, throat tightening. “I am too.”
There was no one else in the room, but he still kept his voice steady. “I’ll take care of Dad. You just… fight.” His hand stayed there a long time. And he didn’t let go.
FORT NOVOSEL – LOCKER ROOM ACCESS BAY – 1412 HOURS
Krueger had his gear bag slung over one shoulder when the first shadow moved across the door. He froze.
There was one set of footsteps. Then there were more. Heavy boots spaced out just enough to signal coordination but not enough to look like it.
He turned slowly. The first man stepped into view, helmet dangling from one hand, the other resting with ease on the gripof his sidearm. He was broad-shouldered, calm, and smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
There were more behind him. He didn’t recognize a single face, but they all watched him the same way. Not curious. Not confrontational. Just... watching.
Krueger said nothing.
The lead stepped forward, no more than six feet away. “You volunteering for the next search op?”
Krueger kept his face blank. He didn’t answer.
“That’s good,” the man continued, tone still casual. “Because there’s one last place left to check.”
Krueger forced a smile, the kind that meant nothing and said less. “I already filed my report. There’s nothing left to find.”
The man tilted his head, like he was listening to something only he could hear. “See, that’s where I disagree.”
Behind Krueger, something shifted. The soft thud of a door closing. Then a metallicclick.
He didn’t have to turn to know what it was. The door was locked. He turned his head, just enough to confirm what his gut already knew.
They'd sealed the exit.
The man in front of him took one more step. That close, Krueger could see the absence in his eyes. Not anger. Not even control. Just cold clarity.
“You hurt one of ours twice.” His voice had changed. Dead level. “That makes you a problem.”
Krueger felt it then, deep in his ribs. Like the air itself had changed density. Like the room had gotten smaller without anyone moving.
The man nodded once. Behind him, the others stirred. No one drew a weapon. “Let’s go see what else we find.”
Krueger turned. His exit was gone. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to fight, todo something, but there was nowhere left to go.
Just the room. And them. And whatever they thought he’d buried.
TWENTY-FIVE
ICU – ROOM 4 – 1613 HOURS
Consciousness didn’t arrive in a clean wave. It came jagged, uneven, like breathing glass.
Shannon surfaced piece by piece. First came the noise, a slow mechanical rhythm. Beep. Pause. Beep.
Then came the pain, not sharp at first, just pressure. It was a thick, thudding weight in her chest, her hip, and her head. Suddenly, it escalated. There was a ripple of heat behind her eyes. Her throat burned. Something was in her mouth. Deep. Plastic. Choking.
Her body lurched. She couldn’t move.
Panic detonated like a mine. Her hand jerked, but something held it down, not tightly, but enough. Her head heaved against the ventilator tube. An alarm wailed. Someone said her name.
