Debrief

The briefing room was quiet.

No screens lit. No feeds running. Just Arthur, seated behind the long table, and Merlin, leaning back against the opposite wall like he’d been waiting there since the mission ended.

Arthur drummed his fingers once on the sealed notebook in front of him.

“She’s unpredictable.”

“Yes,” Merlin said.

“She doesn’t wait for orders.”

“No.”

Arthur looked up.

“She doesn’t ask for clearance.”

Merlin shrugged one shoulder. “She reads the board and moves.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how this unit works.”

“She could have left you compromised,” Merlin said. “But she didn’t.”

Arthur stared at him.

Merlin’s voice didn’t waver. “She adapts. She listens. She learns the rhythm of a team faster than most people notice the tempo’s changed.”

Arthur didn’t speak.

Merlin pushed off the wall, slow and deliberate.

“She doesn’t need to lead. She doesn’t want to disrupt. She finds the objectives and reinforces them.”

“But she does it her way,” Arthur said.

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “And her way doesn’t cost lives. It never has.”

Arthur went still.

“And you trust her,” he said. Not a question.

“I do,” Merlin said.

He leaned his hands on the table, knuckles braced.

“She doesn’t wait for permission, but she doesn’t cross the line. She never pushes until something breaks.”

Arthur said nothing for a long time.

Then finally:

“If I bring her in, it has to be clear. She works with us. Not above us.”

Merlin nodded. “She’ll listen. Especially to you.”

Arthur raised a brow.

“You seem sure of that”

Merlin’s expression didn’t shift.

“Because you’re the only one whose orders already match the way she thinks.”

Knight Recreational Room

The lights were half-dimmed at the Recreational Room of the Knights of the Round Table.

A few mugs sat on the counter. Someone had put the electric kettle on and forgotten about it.

Lancelot was seated on a stool near the wall, half napping.
Percival sat on the edge of the couch, forearms on his knees.
Bedivere had a tablet open in his lap but hadn’t touched it in five minutes.
Galahad was lying sideways across two chairs like it was a couch made for him and him alone.
Gawain, of course, had claimed the armchair—clean, composed, ready to complain.
Tristan sat by the windowsill, quiet as ever.

“So.” Gawain breathed. “Arthur cleared her.”

“Yep.” Tristan mumbles.

“After finally meeting her on that solo op she broke into.”

“Affirmative.” Bedivere hummed.

“And Merlin of all people wants to be her handler.” Percival chimed in.

“Seems about right.” Galahad muses.

“...Right. So now begs the real question.”

They all turn to look at Lancelot.

“How exactly do you bring in a ghost?” Lancelot looks at them.

No one answered right away.

“She’s not a ghost,” Bedivere muttered. “Just. Very hard to track.”

“She’s deliberately hard to track,” Galahad said. “There’s a difference.”

“She rerouted our entire op from a stolen comm and somehow just sauntered into our Commander’s solo one,” Gawain offered, not even lifting his head. “And then vanished both times before extraction.”

Percival leaned forward. “Did she even have an extraction?”

“She was the extraction,” Percy said. “She exfiltrated herself.”

Tristan didn’t speak, but his eyes flicked to the door like he was already wondering if she was listening.

“Anyone actually seen a personnel file on her?” Lancelot asked.

“No,” Bedivere said.

“Not a full one,” Galahad added.

“Doesn’t exist unless she wants it to,” Gawain said.

There was a pause.

Then Lancelot muttered, “What kind of name is Wyvern anyway?”

“The kind that doesn't need a second one,” Percival said.

“She’s not going to slot into a training module,” Galahad said. “She’s going to test us faster than Arthur does.”

“And that’s saying something,” Gawain added.

The kettle clicked off.

No one moved to get it.

Tristan finally said, “She’s not going to announce herself.”

They all looked at him.

“She’ll come in sideways,” he said. “When we’re already moving.”

Lancelot folded his arms.

“Yeah, well... we’d better be ready.”