The mission briefing room buzzed with quiet tension as Murn outlined the op. A tight infiltration, unstable explosives, and a narrow window to extract intel before the whole place went up. Everyone listened closely.

Except Emilia Harcourt—she wasn’t watching the map.

She was watching you.

Her arms were crossed, jaw tense, eyes sharp as knives.

Peacemaker leaned over to whisper, “Hey, why’s she burning holes in your skull?” You didn’t answer. You already knew.

When Murn dismissed the team, Harcourt immediately stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

“We need to talk,” she said.

You sighed lightly. “Let me guess. You don’t want me on this mission.”

“Bingo,” she said without hesitation. “This op needs someone who won’t freeze when things get messy. And you—” She gestured at you with a sharp flick of her hand. “You look like you’ll crack under pressure.”

A spark of anger lit in your chest, but you kept your voice calm. “You don’t know that.”

“I know what I’ve seen,” she snapped. “Hesitation. Overthinking. You flinch when the unexpected happens. That’s how people die.”

You swallowed. “I’m not weak.”

“I didn’t say you were weak,” Harcourt said. “I said you’re unpredictable. And unpredictable gets us killed.”

There it was—her real fear. Not that you’d fail, but that your failure would cost her teammates.

You drew a slow breath. “So what do you want me to do? Step aside? Quit? Say you’re right?”

She leaned in, eyes steady, expression unreadable. “I want you to prove me wrong.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Show me you can handle pressure. Right now.”

Before you could respond, she grabbed a training remote from the table and walked to the adjacent combat room, tossing it in your direction.

“Get in here,” she said. “We’re running a stress test.”

You followed her in.

As soon as the door slid shut, alarms blared. Lights flickered violently. Targets popped up. Simulated explosions rocked the floor.

Harcourt didn’t give you instructions. She didn’t guide you. She just watched.

Arms crossed.

Face unreadable.

Judging every move.

You forced yourself to breathe steady, even when your pulse raced. You dodged simulated blasts, intercepted moving targets, and kept your focus even when smoke machines filled the room with choking fog.

At one point, you stumbled.

Harcourt immediately stepped forward—not to help, but to challenge.

“Come on!” she barked. “If this were real, you’d be dead already!”

You pushed through the rising panic and kept going.

The test ended.

Silence.

Harcourt approached slowly, her boots hitting the floor with deliberate weight.

You braced yourself for disappointment, for some sharp and cutting remark—

But she only nodded once.

A small nod. Barely there. But real.

“You didn’t crack,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “…What?”

“You heard me.” She met your eyes. “You kept your head. You pushed through it. That’s what I needed to see.”

You exhaled, tension draining from your shoulders.

Harcourt stepped past you, hand on the door panel, then paused.

“And for the record,” she added without turning back, “I push the people I believe can improve. If I really thought you were hopeless… I wouldn’t waste my time.”