The humvee rolled to a stop inside the base, the engine sputtering to silence. Razor killed the ignition with practiced ease, his eyes already focused on the task at hand. The air felt charged with unspoken tension, a heaviness that lingered after the mission. The team’s arrival was a stark contrast to the quiet chaos of the base—this wasn’t a routine return. Gator and Shadow climbed out of the vehicle, their eyes scanning the area for any immediate threats, but their attention quickly snapped to Razor as he walked around to the back of the humvee.

  Maverick was already standing near the entrance to the building, arms crossed, a slight frown on his face as he watched them approach. He raised an eyebrow as the door swung open. “Hell of a rescue mission,” he remarked, his voice low but carrying. “Who’s the—”

  He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening when Razor leaned in and gently lifted Vivian from the humvee.

  The base, usually filled with the hum of machinery and idle chatter, seemed to hold its breath. A collective silence spread like wildfire as soldiers, standing outside, turned to stare. The sight of a woman—alive, breathing, and unlike anyone they’d seen in months—was shocking enough. But Razor carrying her, cradling her as if she was something fragile, was enough to make even the toughest soldier freeze.

  Vivian stirred weakly in his arms, her breathing shallow, her face pale, but still somehow striking with its porcelain beauty. Razor moved with practiced efficiency, but there was something else in the way he held her, something protective, as if the mission had shifted entirely.

  Jace followed closely behind, his silence more telling than words. He watched the exchange with careful eyes, noting the way Razor’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his movements slower, almost as if he were trying to avoid jostling her. The sight unsettled him—Razor never acted like this.

  “Did… did Razor just—?” One soldier near the entrance began, his voice barely a whisper, but it carried over the quiet murmurs that began to spread.

  “Shut it,” his companion muttered, elbowing him in the ribs with a scowl. But it didn’t stop others from murmuring.

  “Is she a prisoner?” one voice floated out from the crowd. It was hard to tell whether the soldier was asking or simply speaking aloud, but the words rippled through the gathered group, sending curious eyes darting from Razor to Vivian and back again. The whispers grew louder, the curiosity building like a wave ready to crash.

  The soldiers outside, in various states of disarray and standing guard, paused what they were doing. Some stopped in mid-conversation, others half-finished cleaning their weapons. They all stared. Eyes widened, jaws slackened—Razor, the unshakable leader, carrying someone?

  The murmuring reached a crescendo, but it was cut off abruptly by Razor’s low, commanding voice.

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  “Shut the hell up.”

  His tone was flat, like a blade slicing through the air, and every soldier who had been whispering or staring quickly turned away, pretending they hadn’t been caught. The silence that followed was palpable, heavy with the weight of his words. Razor’s eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd briefly, daring anyone to push the moment further.

  Gator, ever the enforcer, shot a sharp glare at the soldiers lingering too long, his posture rigid. His hand hovered just above his sidearm, a clear reminder of the unspoken rule: don’t cross the line. The tension in his stance was enough to make anyone think twice.

  Shadow, shaking his head, couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. “Damn,” he muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Whiz, brushing past the murmuring group with a focused air, didn’t pause. He was already ahead of the rest, his attention fixed on Vivian as he muttered to himself, his hands moving to prepare medical supplies. “Keep moving,” he called over his shoulder, his voice clipped. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Jace, walking quietly behind the others, was still processing everything he had just witnessed. It was hard to ignore the weight of the situation—the way the team had moved so fluidly, like they had done this a thousand times before, and yet everything felt off. The base wasn’t bustling with activity like it usually was. No one was moving with purpose, no one was talking or carrying on as they typically would.

  But what had really caught his attention was Razor. His usual impassive mask was still in place, but there was something about the way he held Vivian—so careful, so deliberate—that seemed out of character. Jace had known Razor long enough to spot the subtle shifts in his behavior. The way he moved, the way his gaze stayed fixed on Vivian’s face, as if trying to anticipate her every need. Razor didn’t do soft, didn’t do gentle. He didn’t carry anyone like this.

  Something was different. And Jace wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  The murmurs died down completely as the team made their way through the base. More soldiers continued to stare as they walked by, some still glancing at Razor, wondering what the hell was going on.

  “I don’t know,” one soldier whispered as he glanced after them. “But Razor’s never acted like that before. Never. This isn’t the Razor we know.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to be the one to ask him about it,” another replied, his voice tense with the knowledge of just how lethal Razor could be when pushed too far.

  The group reached the entrance to the infirmary, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. Whiz was the first to step inside, but Razor hesitated for only a moment before following, Vivian still in his arms. He moved with determination, not once breaking his focus from the woman in his grasp. The sterile white walls of the infirmary stood in stark contrast to the bloodstains on his hands and the dirt on his boots.

  Inside, the medical team was already ready, but their surprise was evident. The doctor on duty blinked, his eyes moving from Razor to Vivian, and back to Razor again. “What happened?” the medic asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.

  Razor didn’t answer immediately. He simply set Vivian down gently on one of the beds, his movements precise but unusually gentle. The team watched in silence as the doctor began to examine her, and it was only then that the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift back to something more familiar—clinical, professional, but still thick with unease.

  Maverick stood at the back of the room, his arms crossed. “Well, that’s one hell of a sight,” he muttered, watching Razor move with a tenderness that didn’t belong to the soldier everyone knew. “Never thought I’d see you like this, Razor. Never thought you’d carry anyone, let alone her.”

  The comment was met with a pointed look from Razor. His tone was sharp, cutting through the awkwardness like a knife. “Get her treated, Maverick. Focus.”

  Maverick didn’t argue. He knew better.

  The team stood silently around the room, a few eyes still flicking toward Vivian, but no one dared to speak further. Razor had already made it clear this was not up for discussion.

  As Whiz worked, Jace felt the weight of everything settle back onto him. The silence in the room felt heavier now, more oppressive, as if everyone knew they were witnessing something they weren’t supposed to see—a side of Razor that was entirely new, something they hadn’t even known existed.

  It was a moment of realization: the mission had changed. The team had changed.

  And whatever happened next, they weren’t just fighting the infection anymore.

  They were fighting for something else entirely.