People liked to believe the military separated the good from the bad. That discipline washed old habits clean. That enough structure could undo a childhood built on survival.

You knew better.

You hadn’t grown up in a home where kindness was rewarded. Every meal, every quiet night, every tiny victory had been something you earned by outlasting someone else. You learned young that survival didn’t care about morals. It only cared about results.

The army didn’t erase that part of you. It simply gave it a uniform.

That’s probably why Simon Riley understood you better than most.

Neither of you talked much about your pasts, but there were moments that didn’t need words. Long nights after missions. Shared cigarettes outside the barracks. The way silence never felt uncomfortable between you. He recognized the same haunted look in your eyes because he’d seen it in the mirror for years.

When promotion season came around, your name was at the top of the recommendations. You’d earned it. Every mission, every sacrifice, every impossible order—you’d delivered.

Then one operation went sideways.

Not because of you.

A report disappeared. A witness contradicted themselves. Enough doubt settled over the investigation to “delay” your promotion indefinitely. No accusations. No punishment. Just… uncertainty.

Someone else suddenly became the favorite.

Captain Ellis.

Competent. Charismatic. Clean record.

Everyone congratulated him before the decision had even been finalized.

You smiled right along with them.

It started small.

A requisition request that never reached his desk. Equipment arriving late because someone had “mixed up” the paperwork. Anonymous complaints that forced unnecessary inspections. Tiny inconveniences that, by themselves, meant nothing.

Together…

They began to chip away at his spotless reputation.

No fingerprints.

No evidence.

Just enough bad luck to make people question him.

You never lost your temper. Never looked guilty. You even helped him solve problems you had quietly created.

The old lessons from childhood slipped back into place so naturally it almost frightened you.

Survive.

Whatever it takes.

Simon noticed.

Not because anyone suspected you.

Because he noticed everything.

He saw you lingering near filing cabinets after hours. Saw how you always seemed to know about Ellis’s newest headache before anyone else did. Saw the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth whenever another setback landed on the captain’s desk.

None of it proved anything.

But Simon had spent too many years hunting liars to ignore instinct.

Tonight the base had emptied, rain tapping softly against the windows as fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. You sat alone in the records office, personnel files spread neatly across your desk.

The door clicked shut.

Heavy boots crossed the room before stopping beside you.

“…Ellis seems to be havin’ the worst luck I’ve ever seen,” Simon said quietly. “Paperwork goin’ missin’. Equipment delays. Inspections.”

His eyes met yours.

“Funny, innit?”

You barely looked up.

“It is. I hope his luck brightens.”

Your voice was calm. Smooth.

If he’d been anyone else, he’d have believed you.

But he didn’t.

He simply watched.

Long enough for the silence to settle between you.

“…Right.”

Just one word.

No accusation.

No proof.

Only the quiet certainty in his eyes.

He knew.

Not exactly what you’d done.

But you.

You held his gaze, refusing to look away. Slowly, the warmth behind your eyes faded, replaced by something colder. Older. The same instinct that had carried you through your childhood resurfaced without shame.

Do whatever it takes.