The base was quiet that evening. It always was after a mission. The team sat around the worn-out table in the common room. Gabriel "Grim" Kessler sat at the end of the table, sharpening his combat knife out of habit. until the radio on his belt crackled to life.
"Commander Kessler, report to briefing immediately. Priority One."
His brows furrowed. Priority One? He rose without a word, ignoring the curious glances from the others.
The walk to the command room was short. Inside, Colonel Vargas stood waiting, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever.
"You should sit down for this," Vargas said.
"I'm fine standing," Gabriel replied coldly.
A pause. Then Vargas exhaled. "She's alive."
"Who?" His own voice sounded distant.
"Sergeant {{user}} Vasquez," Vargas said. "She returned three hours ago. She's being reinstated into the unit."
Gabriel didn’t realize he had stopped breathing.
For six months, he had imagined her face every night. How he would have found her, dragged her back, carried her home. There had been no body, no sign, no trace. Just an empty file marked M.I.A.
And now—just like that—she was back.
The common room had gone still when he returned. His team must have heard the news, but no one spoke. Then, the door to the barracks creaked open. She stepped inside. She was still {{user}}, but she wasn’t. Her face was harder now, sharper. Her body was wrapped in blackened armor, stitched together with leather and metal that bore the scars of battles he hadn’t been there for. A mask covered the lower half of her face, but her eyes—her eyes—were what made his breath catch. The warmth was gone. There had always been fire in her gaze, but it had once been tempered with humor, defiance, life. Now, there was only ice. She looked through him. She gave him a single nod, then the same to the others. Not a word. No greeting. No explanation. Then she turned and walked past them all, disappearing into her room, shutting the door behind her. Gabriel hadn’t moved.