The Revenant’s lounge wasn’t glamorous—dim lighting, a few well-worn chairs, and a circular table with scratches carved into its surface from countless missions past. But tonight, the room was alive with laughter and the hum of celebration. Bottles of space vodka sat open on the table, their contents steadily vanishing.

Ravik paused outside the door. His holocomm glowed with Kael’s message: Join us in the lounge. You earned this.

He pocketed the device, squaring his shoulders before stepping inside.

Kael sat at the head of the table, relaxed for once. Veyra leaned against the wall near him, arms crossed, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Sarin, mid-laugh, raised his glass.

“Ravik, the violet beauty," Sarin drawled. “Gracing us with his presence. What an honor.”

Ravik closed the door. Kael gestured to the empty chair across from him, a smile softening his usual stern expression. “Sit down. You’ve earned it.”

Ravik slid into the seat, glancing at the bottle of space vodka as Kael poured and passed him a glass. He hesitated before picking it up.

“To victory,” Kael said, lifting his glass.

The others echoed the toast, their glasses clinking together before the vodka disappeared in a series of quick, practiced swallows. Ravik followed suit, the sharp burn tracing a line down his throat and spreading warmth through his chest.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Kael leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Ravik.

“I’ll admit,” he said, swirling the last of his drink, “I had my doubts about you. Thought you were just another cocky kid.”

Ravik arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “And now?”

“Now? Maybe I’m starting to see what Zarion sees in you.”

Ravik’s grip tightened on the glass. He kept his face still.

“Or,” Kael added, leaning back with a smirk, “maybe it’s a fluke, and you’ll get dusted on the next mission.”

Ravik frowned, setting his glass down. “Dusted?”

Veyra didn’t miss a beat. “Screw up in the zone, turn into stardust. Why do you think we needed a new infiltrator?”

The weight of her words settled. Someone died, and Ravik had taken their place. His chest tightened, but he wasn’t about to let the team see his discomfort. He picked up his glass again, swirling the liquid before taking another slow sip.

“Well,” he said finally, “good thing I don’t screw up.”

Veyra’s lips twitched. “Let’s hope you’re right, Captain.”

Sarin, ever the opportunist, leaned forward. “If it makes you feel better, Ravik, I promise to make your eulogy really heartfelt. Something like, ‘He was gorgeous, arrogant, and totally unprepared.’”

“Shut up, Sarin,” Veyra said, though there was no heat in her tone.

Ravik met Sarin’s gaze evenly. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m delivering your eulogy.”

Sarin laughed. “Touché.”

Kael tapped his glass. “Enough,” he said, his tone returning to its usual authoritative edge. “No one’s getting dusted if I can help it. Not Ravik, not anyone. We do this as a team, or not at all.”

Veyra nodded silently, and even Sarin straightened slightly, his grin fading into something more genuine. 

For the first time, the reality of the Vanguard sank in—not just the danger, but the reliance they all had on each other.

“To the team,” Kael said, raising his glass again.

Ravik hesitated before lifting his own. “To the team.”

Across the lounge, Veyra leaned back as she watched Ravik and Sarin. Kael sat nearby, swirling the remnants of his drink in his glass, his gaze following hers.

“Is it just me, or is he being even more insufferable than usual?”

Kael snorted softly, glancing at her before turning his attention back to the scene at the table. “Sarin doesn’t know how to be anything else.”

“No,” Veyra replied, her tone thoughtful now. “This is different. He’s not just playing around this time.”

Kael raised an eyebrow, studying Sarin’s body language. The sniper was leaning in just a little too close, his grin sharp, exuding charm. Ravik looked equal parts annoyed and slightly off balance, his usual confidence cracked just enough to show through.

“Hmm,” Kael muttered. “You might be right. The flirting’s always there, but this? He’s dialed in.”

Veyra tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s because it’s Ravik.”

Kael glanced at her, then back at the two men. “Probably. Sarin loves a challenge, and Ravik’s got that whole untouchable, ‘too-good-for-this’ vibe. Makes him an irresistible target.”

“Dangerous target,” Veyra added, her tone flat but amused. “If Sarin doesn’t watch it, Ravik’s going to snap and put him through a wall.”

Kael chuckled, swirling his drink. “That’s part of the thrill for him, though. He likes pushing limits, especially with someone who’s not afraid to push back.”

Veyra watched as Ravik grabbed Sarin’s wrist, the tension in his jaw visible even from across the room. Sarin didn’t flinch, his grin widening as he leaned in further.

“He’s lucky Ravik didn’t deck him,” Veyra said, shaking her head.

“Ravik’s got more restraint than that,” Kael replied, his voice thoughtful. “But it’s interesting, isn’t it? He didn’t just shut Sarin down completely. He’s... letting him push.”

Veyra raised an eyebrow. “You think he likes it?”

Kael shrugged. “Hard to say. Ravik’s not exactly an open book. But if he didn’t like any of it, Sarin would be picking his teeth up off the floor.”

Veyra smirked, her gaze lingering on Ravik’s tense posture. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment to make Sarin regret it.”

Kael chuckled again. “Either way, it’s going to be entertaining.”

Veyra nodded, her smirk widening as Sarin pulled back, retreating just enough to keep himself out of Ravik’s immediate line of fire—but not far enough to lose his momentum.

“Yeah. Entertaining’s one word for it.”

Kael leaned against the table, watching Ravik, who had just released Sarin’s wrist with a sharp, controlled motion. Sarin seemed more amused than deterred. Ravik straightened in his seat, exuding a calculated aloofness.

“You know, I can’t even blame Sarin. I mean... look at him.”

Veyra blinked, turning her sharp gaze to Kael, her brow arching. “What?”

Kael gestured toward Ravik. “He’s the total package. Bright, built, and those violet eyes? Damn near unfair.”

Veyra’s jaw tightened—not with jealousy, but with sheer surprise at hearing this from Kael, of all people. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him.

“You’re kidding.”

Kael shrugged, nonplussed. “What? It’s just an observation.”

“An observation? You don’t ‘observe’ things like that. Not you. Sarin? Sure. But you?”

Kael raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from his glass. “What can I say? I’m not blind. Ravik’s got a presence. People notice it.”

Veyra tilted her head. “Are you drunk?”

“Not enough to change my opinion.”

Across the room, Sarin leaned back in his chair, throwing a sly glance toward Kael. “Well, well. The stoic commander has a soft spot. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Kael’s smirk widened. “Don’t push your luck, Sarin. You’re skating on thin ice as it is.”

Veyra shook her head, still processing the turn of the conversation. “Stars above,” she muttered. “The galaxy’s falling apart, we’re risking our necks every mission, and here you are admiring Ravik’s... aesthetic.”

“Someone had to notice,” Kael replied.

“Sure,” Veyra deadpanned. “Should Sarin draft a love letter for you?”

Sarin laughed, raising his glass. “I like the way you think, Veyra.”

Kael ignored the remark as he watched Ravik’s profile catch in the lounge’s dim light. “He’s good,” he said, more to himself now. “Better than I gave him credit for.”

Veyra stared at Kael in disbelief. “You’ve got it bad, Commander.”

Kael straightened, his demeanor returning to its usual composed edge. “Focus, Veyra. Sarin’s enough trouble for one night. Don’t you start.”

“Whatever you say, sir. But this is definitely going in the unofficial log.”