Your boots echoed across the concrete floor of the ARGUS compound as you followed Economos through the hall. You could feel the stares—confusion, suspicion, judgment. It wasn’t new. Being a former mercenary meant you always walked into a room with a target painted between your shoulder blades.

But the stare you felt the most came from her.

Emilia Harcourt.

Cold. Sharp. Assessing.

The moment you stepped inside the briefing room, she didn’t hide the way her jaw tightened.

Peacemaker, of course, ruined the moment by loudly whispering, “Ooooh, Harcourt’s giving them the look.”

She didn’t even glance at him. Her eyes stayed locked on you.

“So this is your new recruit?” she said to Economos, voice flat. “Great. A trigger-happy mercenary. What an upgrade.”

You lifted your chin. “Nice to meet you too.”

Harcourt crossed her arms. “I didn’t say it was nice.”

Murn gestured for calm. “They’ve agreed to work with us. That’s enough.”

“For you, maybe,” Harcourt said. “But I don’t trust anyone whose résumé includes ‘will kill for a paycheck.’”

You felt heat spark in your chest, but you kept your voice steady. “That was the past.”

“Yeah,” she shot back, “and people with pasts like yours usually don’t leave them behind.”

The room went silent.

Even Peacemaker shut up.

Finally, Murn dismissed the team, leaving just you and Harcourt standing across from each other.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t soften.

“You going to keep staring at me?” you asked.

“Until I figure out what your angle is,” she replied. “Yeah.”

You let out a frustrated breath. “I’m here because I want to be. Because I’m tired of being used by people who don’t care whether I live or die.”

“And you think we care?” Harcourt scoffed. “This isn’t a family. It’s a job. And I’m not babysitting someone who might turn on us the second a better offer shows up.”

You met her glare evenly. “If I wanted a ‘better offer,’ I’d already be gone.”

That made her pause—just a heartbeat, but you saw it.

A crack in the armor.

Very small.

Very temporary.

She stepped closer—not threatening, just challenging.

“I’ve seen mercenaries flip sides mid-mission,” she said quietly. “I’ve watched teammates get buried because they trusted the wrong person. And I’m not letting that happen again.”

Your voice lowered to match hers. “Then let me prove I’m not that person.”

Harcourt studied you for a long moment. Longer than before. Her guard didn’t drop—but her stance shifted. Less hostility. More calculation.

“Fine,” she said at last. “You want trust? Earn it.”