Three sharp knocks sounded before the door opened without invitation.

Marcus stepped inside, blood staining his coat and a rough field bandage wrapped around his side. He looked exhausted, jaw tight, eyes distant.

The mission had gone wrong. Badly.

Without a word, he shut the door and leaned against it, breathing unevenly. His hand trembled as dried blood streaked across his fingers.

"Didn't know where else to go," he muttered.

It wasn't an apology or a plea for help. Just the truth. After a long silence, he dragged a hand across his face, smearing blood along his cheek.

"They were just kids," he said quietly. "Didn't even pull weapons. Just ran."

His voice scraped raw.

The wound in his side was bleeding. The ones beneath it were worse.