The hallway outside the infirmary buzzed with a quiet tension. Razor stood at the front, expression unreadable behind his signature skull-patterned balaclava. His gray eyes were fixed on the closed doors, arms crossed, stance steady. Gator, Maverick, and Shadow stood nearby, each carrying that same edge of concern etched into their posture.

  No one spoke.

  Across the hall, Reyes and Jace had just come, both heading straight toward them. Colt trailed behind with a noticeable limp, his injured leg slowing him slightly. Hale walked in beside them, his face firm and composed as always. When he saw Razor, his steps halted just briefly.

  “She’s in there?” Hale asked, voice low.

  Razor gave a single nod. “Whiz is with her.”

  “She passed out after the fight,” Gator added quietly. “Too much blood loss.”

  Hale’s jaw tightened. “She saved my life in that bakery. That thing would’ve ripped me in half if she hadn’t jumped in.”

  “And before that,” Colt grunted, adjusting his weight on his good leg, “she helped us take down that tentacled freak. I’ve never seen someone move like that.”

  “She’s been on her own for who knows how long,” Maverick said. “The way she fights... she wasn’t just surviving. She’s been protecting others.”

  The conversation ended abruptly as a soldier strode down the hallway toward them, posture straight and tone formal. “Lieutenants—you’re both needed in the briefing room. Officers are waiting.”

  Razor glanced once toward the infirmary, but didn’t speak. He simply turned and began walking. His team followed without question, Hale’s team falling in beside them.

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  Briefing Room

  The doors opened with a soft mechanical hum. Officers sat at the long table ahead, expressionless and waiting. Screens behind them flickered with data—partial footage from body cams, stills of the mutated infected, red circles highlighting Vivian’s figure amid chaos.

  Razor stood front and center, Hale at his side. Their teams lined the back of the room in silence.

  One officer cleared his throat and began. “Let’s discuss the unidentified civilian you brought in. She fought beside you during two recent engagements. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Razor answered, voice calm and clipped, his tone carrying quiet authority behind the mask. “She engaged the mutated infected alongside both units. Unofficially, but effectively.”

  “She fought with precision,” Hale added. “We encountered a new variant—a mutation with tentacles. She was instrumental in neutralizing it.”

  “And again in the bakery,” Reyes put in. “She didn’t hesitate. Put herself between Hale and the creature without a second thought.”

  “She also helped pull Whiz out before he got crushed,” Shadow said from the back, stepping forward slightly. “We owe her.”

  One officer tapped his screen. “She has no ID on record. No military file. No prior classification. You’re telling us this girl just... appeared and started fighting like a trained operative?”

  “She’s been surviving in the city alone,” Colt said. “That takes more than training. She knew what she was doing.”

  There was a long pause. Then another officer spoke up. “And where is she now?”

  “Infirmary,” Razor said. “She passed out after the last fight. Whiz is with her.”

  The officers exchanged brief glances. “Once she recovers, she’ll be evaluated and assigned to a unit. We cannot allow unsanctioned assets in the field, regardless of skill.”

  Before Razor could speak, Hale stepped forward.

  “My team is down a man. Colt’s not ready for combat,” he said. “There are four of us. We’ll take her.”

  One officer raised an eyebrow. “You want her on your squad?”

  “She’s already fought with us. She knows how we move. She saved all of us,” Hale replied firmly. “She’ll be more effective with people she’s already synced with.”

  Razor didn’t speak immediately. He stared ahead for a beat, silent behind the skeletal print of his mask. Finally, he nodded once.

  “She’s more than capable,” he said. “If she’s going to be assigned, better it’s with a team she’s already bled beside.”

  The room went quiet again—until the door slid open.

  Whiz walked in, out of breath but composed, gloves tucked into his back pocket. “Sorry for the delay. Had to finish up care.”

  One of the officers turned. “The girl—Vivian. Has she regained consciousness?”

  Whiz gave a small nod. “Yes, sir. She woke up about twenty minutes ago. Stable now. No signs of infection. She’ll need time, but she’s a fighter.”

  The officers looked at each other before the lead one gave a short nod.

  “Then it’s settled. Vivian will be transferred to Lieutenant Hale’s unit once cleared. Official evaluation will follow. You’re all dismissed.”

  Razor gave another nod and turned, leading his team out without another word. Hale followed, expression unreadable.

  As they exited into the hallway,Gator glanced over at Razor. “You okay with her going to Hale’s team?”

  Razor didn’t look at him. “Doesn’t matter if I am or not,” he said, low. “It’s the safest place for her.”

  But his jaw was clenched.

  Because even behind the mask, it was clear—he did care.