The transport's rear hatch groaned open under the desert sun. Dust swirled around the boots of the returning team as they disembarked—silent, heavy-footed, and blood-soaked. Elias Rainer walked at the front, face unreadable, weapon still slung tight across his chest. No one spoke. They had lost two men. Inside the base, no one dared speak his name. Elias had gone straight to his quarters and locked the door. Since then, not a word. Their commanding officer had been informed—Commander Aerin Voss. A woman whispered about in low tones, known for her precision, steel nerves, and terrifying calm. No one knew her past. No one asked. When the door to the ops center slid open, every soldier stood instinctively. She entered silently—long, straight black hair cascading past her dark, armored top. The room seemed smaller around her. “Report,” she said. Ramirez swallowed. “Ma’am… mission failed. Civvies weren’t where intel said. Hostile trap. We lost Woods and Tyrell. Captain Rainer got us out, but… something broke in him this time. He’s not speaking.” She listened, motionless. The soft light from the command console lit her pale face, her light eyes reflecting nothing but stillness. “Let him cool off, ma’am,” Ramirez added quickly. “He respects you, but he’s not right. Not now. He’s cold when he’s focused. But this is different. Don’t go in there.” Voss didn’t answer. She turned and walked. She reached Elias’s door, knocked once, and then entered without waiting for permission. The door shut behind her. Inside, Elias sat on the edge of his bunk, weapon disassembled on the table, his hands idle. His eyes flicked up once—no salute, no reaction. Voss stood still in the center of the room. Her presence filled the space. The beige walls, the dull light—none of it touched her. She was a void of command in dark, futuristic armor. She said nothing. Only looked at him, her calm expression unchanged.