“It’s not just the sim, is it?”
“No.”
She waits. Quiet. Letting me offer it or not.
So I do.
“I used to run everything alone. Even the stuff that wasn't supposed to be. Always figured if someone had to bleed out, it should be me.”
Her lips press into a line, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn't see another way to stay useful,” I say, voice low. “Not after Horus. Not with the things I’d done. I thought making it out meant failing the job.”
“You thought living was betrayal.”
“Yeah.”
A long pause.
“Do you still think that?” she asks.
I look at her, really look. The way her knees are drawn up. The scuffs on her knuckles. The dust still settling in her hair from the sim sparks.
“No,” I say quietly. “Not anymore.”
The next morning, I delete a contract from Gnotz’s channel.
It pings loud when it hits my inbox—urgent tag, encrypted, high-yield payout. Recon to recover a lost team in Karynx’s high orbit. No backup. No partner. One-man entry.
I sit with it a while. Read the mission brief. Memorize it, even. It would’ve been a hell of a run. Brutal. Likely lethal.
I delete it.
“Solo op?” Roxy asks later as I review performance logs.
I nod.
“You let it go?”
“Didn’t even twitch.”
She grins. “Gods, who evenareyou?”
“Someone trying to not die anymore,” I say dryly.
“Hot.”
The next sim run is harder—urban density, biohazard layers, time-critical evac. Roxy argues to swap roles. I lead recon. She runs point.
“You sure?” I ask. “My stride’s heavier. I don’t ghost as well.”
“You’re still the better angle on vertical threats,” she replies. “And if I’m point, I can draw attention. Keep you clean for the flank.”
I hesitate.
“You trust me or not?” she challenges.
“Always,” I say before I even think.
