Eurylochus had that feeling again—the one that coiled low in his gut and refused to leave, even as Captain Odysseus swept into the briefing room with that same confident gleam in his eye.

“It’s a simple in-and-out,” the Captain said, tapping the city map where the tip had led them. “We breach the old marina warehouse at 2300. Intel says the suspects won’t be expecting us.”

Eurylochus didn’t buy it. He never really did. But this time? This time the dread felt different. He leaned forward, voice low. “Cap, I know I’ve said this before, but… I think we’re walking into something. A setup. This whole thing—it smells wrong.”

Odysseus didn’t scoff, not exactly, but his silence said everything. Just a beat too long before he nodded toward the exit. “Get your gear. We move out in thirty.”

Now, tied to a support beam with blood dripping down his temple and three of their team nursing wounds across the room, Eurylochus could barely meet Odysseus’s eye. Not because he was angry. But because he’d been right, and no one had listened—again. As always.