The Stewards did not return that night.
By late evening, the base slipped back into routine. Meetings. Briefings. Radio checks. The mission pretending it hadn’t been interrupted by teeth that weren’t supposed to exist.
Reynolds slept in broken stretches while boots passed the closed door without pausing.
A week later, when the Stewards returned, Melvin understood their first visit had been observation. This one was a decision.
The morning passed in fragments of duty neither of them trusted enough to focus on. Reports were written. Questions were answered carefully. More than once Melvin caught himself listening for sounds that didn’t belong.
They didn’t come.
Not until midafternoon.
Melvin found Mac outside the medical wing, leaning against the cinderblock wall with a paper cup of coffee gone cold in his hand. Helooked like he hadn’t moved in a while, as if distance from the room was something he tolerated rather than chose.
“Anything change?” Mac asked.
Melvin shook his head. “He’s been holding steady.”
Mac nodded once, pushing off the wall without finishing the coffee.
They walked back down the corridor together, boots sounding louder than they should have on the tile. The hallway smelled faintly of antiseptic and dust, the ordinary scent of Army medicine layered over things no report would ever include.
Reynolds’ door stood half-closed.
Mac pushed it open without knocking.
Reynolds lay half-propped in the narrow bed, the restraints gone now, one arm resting loosely across his stomach. He looked up as they entered, his eyes clearer than they had been days ago, though the strain still lingered around his mouth.
Melvin stepped inside first, letting the door fall nearly shut behind them.
And that was when he felt it.
Pressure.
Like the room had drawn a deeper breath than the rest of the building.
Mac felt it too. Melvin saw it in the way Mac’s shoulders tightened and his stance shifted, weight settling evenly through his boots.
His eyes flicked once to Melvin.
Recognition.
Agreement.
The air shifted without warning. The fluorescent hum thinned again, not gone, just subdued, as if sound understood it was no longer in charge.
Reynolds’ eyes widened. His breathing quickened.
Melvin stepped closer, voice low. “Stay with us,” he said. “Stay here.”
The Stewards stepped in, and the world folded.
Melvin felt the room seal. He felt the corridor and its noise fall away. The same cloak as before, deliberate and practiced. Not a trick. A tool.
The High Steward’s gaze swept the bed and monitor. The woman Steward stood beside him with controlled indifference. The younger one carried the folio again, pen ready.
“He has stabilized enough,” the High Steward said. “The transfer will proceed. His training can begin.”
