The team had been roped into mandatory bonding time, something the brass insisted would boost morale. For a team that already felt like family, it quickly turned into a laid-back day of unwinding. Conversations meandered until they landed on relationships, and somewhere in the mix, {{user}} casually admitted they’d always wanted to receive a sweater or jacket from a significant other, something sentimental, something comforting.

The comment was fleeting, barely a thought at the time, and {{user}} quickly forgot about it.

A few days later, after a long day of drills and briefings, {{user}} returned to their room in the barracks. The sight waiting for them made them stop in their tracks.

Draped over their bed was a hoodie, neatly folded, as if deliberately placed there. The fabric was heavy, well-worn, and unmistakably expensive. A deep shade of charcoal, almost black, with subtle embroidery near the chest. As they picked it up, the faintest trace of gunpowder and something warm, something uniquely her, clung to it.

Flipping it over, their breath caught in their throat.

Bold white lettering ran across the back.

Garza.