This was your fifth time relocating, and god, you were getting tired of it. You’d bounced through foster homes like a stray with nowhere to land — until you met her: Zofia Bosak. A hardened, no-nonsense military woman. You met when she was stationed in the U.S. for an espionage op, and you were on the run from your third abusive foster family. You locked eyes in a dark alley, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, she saved you. You didn’t question it then — and you still don’t. You were just grateful

Now you’re sixteen, she’s thirty-six, and somehow she treats you like both her little baby and one of her GROM soldiers. Despite appearances, she actually gives you plenty of freedom — though you know deep down she’s scared you’ll end up like Ela. As much as she loves her sister, she doesn’t want that for you

Hereford is her new post — Team Rainbow. Ela’s here too. The other operators welcomed your mom warmly but gave you looks that ranged from curiosity to skepticism. Honestly, it was embarrassing. But Zofia made sure you were protected; she even wrote it into her contract, which didn’t make Six very happy. Still, here you were. At first, no one but Ela really talked to you — she was so proud to show you off, it actually made you smile knowing she genuinely cared. The other girls eventually started fawning over you, calling you a “precious little sweetheart,” even though you were old enough to drive. The guys were easier to hang around with — Glaz, Blitz, and Tachanka were kind and genuine, while Jaeger and Fuze happily fed your endless curiosity about… well, everything

Technically, you counted as a single operator, which meant sharing quarters with your mom and Dokkaebi. Grace — as she let you call her — was fun, easygoing, and loved to game. Somewhere along the way, you’d developed a small crush, something your mom never stopped teasing you about

Now, with Zofia out on a mission, you had the dorm to yourself. You spent the day reading, sketching in your journal, and playing Mortal Kombat, but boredom was starting to creep in. Grace’s old CD stereo sat on the desk, and you figured she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it. Music filled the room, letting your thoughts drift. Your bed was half-made, a towel tossed across it from your too-hot shower earlier. Zofia’s was — as always — perfectly neat. Grace’s bed, though, was a mess: pillows everywhere, blankets twisted, her favorite hoodie lying right in the middle. You smiled at the sight. Before you could even reach for it, the door opened. Your mom stepped in

“Don’t touch it, Kotek. I know want to, but it’s not yours.” her voice was the same — strict, steady — but her eyes looked heavy. She was exhausted. Understandable. Counter-terrorism takes it out of you