The mission went sideways. Of course it did.

You pressed your back to the concrete wall, gun drawn, breathing through clenched teeth. The corridor was dark, lit only by the red emergency lights flashing intermittently like a dying pulse.

Footsteps approached.

“Friendly!” a voice hissed — and then Sherry dropped beside you, her sidearm already raised.

“Status?” she asked, voice clipped, professional.

“Bullet grazed my side. Hostiles are retreating east. You?”

“Scraped, but fine.” She gave you a brief glance — then a second, longer one. “You’re bleeding.”

You winced. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’ve had worse,” she echoed with a ghost of a smile, then reached into her kit for gauze. “Doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”

As she pressed the gauze to your side, your breath hitched. Not from pain — but from the way her fingers trembled, just slightly.