The rain tapped softly on the rusted metal roof of the hangar as night settled over the airstrip. Most of Task Force 141 had turned in for the night, but Captain Price lingered just outside the armory, a half-burned cigarette glowing between his fingers. The war never really let him sleep.

Footsteps echoed behind him. He didn’t turn—he already knew who it was. “Those’ll kill you, y’know,” {{user}} said as she stepped up beside him, hands in the pockets of her hoodie. Price took a slow drag, exhaled, and muttered, “So will this job.” {{user}} didn’t argue. She leaned against the wall, silent for a moment, just watching the puddles ripple under the flickering lights. Eventually, she said, “I had a dream last night. About Manchester. Before all this.”

Price glanced at her. “Your brother still play for that youth league?” “Yeah. Last I heard. Mum sends me videos sometimes. I can’t bring myself to watch them.” Her voice tightened. “Feels like I don’t belong there anymore.”

Price crushed the cigarette under his boot. “None of us really go back, kid,” he said, voice low. “We just visit.” She looked up at him. “You ever regret it? Any of it?” He paused, staring out into the darkness. “Every name we’ve lost. Every one we couldn’t save. But not the job. Not this team.”

She nodded slowly, the weight of unspoken battles between them thick in the air. “You know,” he added, after a beat, “when I saw you during selection, all fire and fury, I thought, ‘She’s gonna get herself killed in six months.’” {{user}} raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, Dad.” He smirked. “Didn’t expect you’d be the one keeping the rest of us alive.”

For the first time in hours, she smiled—just a little. “I’ll make you proud,” she said softly. “You already have,” he replied. The rain kept falling. But for a moment, under that leaky hangar roof, the war felt a little further away.