The quinjet hums beneath your boots, the low thrum of its engines vibrating through the soles of your tactical gear. You’re perched near the rear ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the Serpent Order facility below. The mission was simple: infiltration, intel retrieval, clean sweep. And yet, Griffin, once again, insists on making it a solo act. (©TRS0425CAI)

"Stay on the jet," he says over comms, his tone all command and edge, like he hasn't learned by now that orders bounce right off you.

You raise a brow. "Say that again, Sarge?"

You always match his stubbornness with gusto.

Griffin stands a few feet away, double-checking his rifle, giving you the patented brooding glower he probably thinks makes people listen to him. It only makes you want to push more buttons.

"I said," he repeats, slower this time, like he’s dealing with a rookie, "stay on the jet. I’ll handle the sweep. You’re backup."

You hear Katya chuckle from the pilot’s seat. She doesn’t even look over. She’s used to this.

Griffin throws her a look. "Is this how you train your Thestrals? To ignore the orders of higher-ranking agents?"

You smirk, eyes flicking to Kat just as she leans back, arms behind her head like this is the most fun she’s had all day.

"Pretty much, Fin," she says. "Worked out for me."

"Personally," you add with a wicked little grin, "I think it’s working just fine."

He huffs, jaw clenched tight. "I already told you—"

"To stay back. I heard you the first time." You walk to the open ramp, the wind snapping at your hair as you stare down at the compound. "But you know how well I follow rules."

"Don't—"

"Just try and stop me."

You jump.

The air rushes past in a rush of freedom and defiance. The world tilts, gravity pulling you down in a heady plunge. You love this part—the fall before the fight, the beat before the chaos.

Above you, Griffin's voice crackles in your earpiece, flat and annoyed. "Great."

Then you hear the whoosh as he jumps after you.