The faint crunch of boots on gravel broke the steady rhythm of the wind. Kael didn’t look up right away. His fingers adjusted on the rifle, just enough to track movement, until the figure resolved in the dim light.

Sarin.

He stopped a few paces away, silver eyes flicking once toward Ravik—still asleep under Kael’s jacket—then back to Kael.

“Didn’t know you did the night watch for sentimental reasons now,” Sarin said, voice quiet, not quite teasing.

Kael’s gaze stayed on the dark horizon. “You shouldn’t be up. Get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.” Sarin crouched beside him, his tone still casual but quieter now. “He really gets under your skin, doesn’t he?”

Kael’s grip on his rifle tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“So that’s it, then,” Sarin said, eyes still on Ravik. “You’re not coming back.”

Kael shifted slightly. “We’ve been over this.”

“Look, I get it. He’s good. Makes it look easy. Reminds me of how you used to be—before things... turned.” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Back when you trusted someone enough to let them in.”

Kael’s jaw tensed.

“But I’m not here to give you grief,” Sarin said, his tone softening further. “I pulled away. You let me.” Sarin looked away. He remembered Kael’s hand on his cheek, the way Kael’s voice had sounded when he’d whispered ‘Stay with me’ before Sarin had run.

“I don’t regret much, but I regret that.” He let out a small, wry laugh, glancing toward the horizon. “Guess you don’t always get what you want.”

Kael finally met his gaze. “It was a long time ago.”

“Was it?” Sarin asked, no bitterness in his voice—just a faint, tired smile. “Feels closer than that sometimes.”

Silence stretched. Not tense. Just familiar.

Sarin stood, brushing grit from his gloves. “I’m not here to start anything. I just wanted to say... take care of him. He’s got enough to deal with without you complicating things.”

Kael’s gaze followed Sarin as he stepped away, his voice quiet but firm. “I don’t intend to complicate anything.”

Sarin turned back. “You already have.”

Kael’s voice was flat. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Sure you do,” Sarin said, turning back once as he walked away. “You always do. That’s the problem.”

He disappeared into the dark.

Kael stayed where he was, his rifle balanced across his knees. He glanced at Ravik, whose chest rose and fell in steady rhythm beneath the jacket.

Too late to avoid complications, he thought.

The harder part was admitting he might want them.

Sarin walked until Kael’s silhouette was just another ridge in the dark. He didn’t look back.

The air was colder here—cut sharp by altitude and ash. He ran a hand through his hair, pausing as he leaned against a flat outcrop.

Kael hadn’t changed. Still unflinching, still impossible to reach unless you already knew the path.

Sarin closed his eyes. He could still remember how Kael spoke in the dark, low and steady, like he meant every word. He could still feel the way that Kael held him. The way he kissed. Not soft. But certain. Certain that Sarin had meant something more.

And he had. Until Sarin ran.

Too many drinks. Too many beds. Too many jokes to fill the space Kael left behind.

Sarin flirted with everyone now. He knew what people thought. They called it charm. Confidence. It wasn’t. Not really.

He flirted because if someone chose him—just once, with clarity—maybe he could stop feeling like he’d given up the one thing that had ever made him still.

He glanced back toward the camp, toward the soft glow where Kael sat watching Ravik.

Too late, he thought.

But it didn’t stop the ache.

Sarin pushed off the rock and vanished into the dark. Not tired. Just not welcome anymore.

The next morning, Kael stood at the edge of the drop zone, crimson eyes locked on the fortress below. The Vanguard assembled behind him, silent.

“This is it,” Kael said, his voice cutting through the charged silence. “Ravik, Veyra, you infiltrate the tunnels and plant the charges. No distractions. Stay on target. The rest of us will lead the frontal assault. We draw their attention, keep them busy, and give you a clear path.”

Kael’s gaze swept over the team, lingering briefly on Ravik. “This mission is about precision and timing. One piece breaks—we all go down. Stick to the plan. No hesitation.”

Ravik gave a sharp nod, tightening the strap on his rifle. Across from him, Veyra adjusted her gear with surgical ease.

Kael’s voice dropped slightly, his tone hardening. “Tyrex knows we’re coming. He’ll use his affinity, so we keep him trapped. This is personal. We’re not leaving until he’s dust.”

Sarin muttered as he checked his scope. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Kael ignored the comment. “Move out.”

The storm screamed around them. Kael, Sarin, Elara, and Rynn advanced through the ash. Ravik and Veyra slipped into the dark, moving toward the tunnel entrance.

The tunnel was black, damp, ribs of rock closing in. It smelled of earth and rot. Ravik led, rifle raised, visor glowing faint green.

“Stay close,” Veyra said, her voice low and steady.

Ravik nodded, each step dragging like a weighted boot. Tight path. Tight lungs.

Ahead, the tunnel widened into a junction, its walls lined with makeshift barricades. The faint flicker of movement caught Ravik’s eye, and he raised a fist. Stop.

“Hostiles.”

Veyra dropped into cover beside him. Her rifle came up fast. The first insurgent stepped into view—Ravik fired. The shot hit center mass. Clean.

Then the shouting started. Figures swarmed the junction. Gunfire sparked off stone

“Contact,” Veyra snapped, already shooting.

Ravik dropped behind a beam. Rounds cracked past his ear. He gritted his teeth and returned fire. Recoil jolted up his shoulder. Aim held.

A sharp cry cut through. He turned to see Veyra slump against the wall, her hand pressed tightly against her side. Blood seeped through her fingers, dark and wet.

“Hit,” she hissed through her teeth, already pressing into the wound.

Ravik crawled to her. “What do I—”

“Focus,” Veyra snapped. “You keep us alive until Elara gets here. That’s what you do.”

He turned, rifle up, just in time to drop another hostile pushing the flank. Veyra nudged him with her boot, her voice dropping into an amused tone despite the pain. “Grab the launcher. Time to see how you handle the big guns.”

Ravik blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Veyra replied, her lips twitching into a smirk. “It’s your first time, but don’t worry. You’ll figure it out. Just aim where it’ll hurt the most.”

Ravik stared at the weapon, heart stuttering. Too big, too much—but there wasn’t time to second-guess. He slung the rifle, grabbed the launcher, and ran the math in his head. He hadn’t touched an RPG since the Academy, and that was nothing compared to Vanguard tech. 

The recoil slammed against his shoulder as the rocket streaked through the air. It hit home, the explosion shaking the tunnel and scattering debris.

“Not bad,” Veyra muttered, her voice strained. “But don’t get cocky.”

Ravik reloaded. Fired again. Then again. Each shot snapped into the next. Target. Trigger. Collapse. His mind screamed stop, but his body moved, driven by the need to protect Veyra—and himself.

Footsteps pounded behind them. Elara emerged, rifle blazing. She cleared the path in seconds, then dropped beside Veyra without a word.

“You’re not dying on me,” she said, voice hard as she worked.

“Didn’t plan on it,” Veyra rasped.

Ravik stood guard at the breach. Rifle ready. Breathing tight. Hands shaking… not from fear.

Just from what it cost.