The weight of the bomb suit still felt foreign on your shoulders, every step a reminder that you were the new one here. The streets were blistering under the afternoon sun, sand and grit sticking to your lips as you followed the squad’s movements.

“Eyes up, kid,” someone muttered over comms, and you adjusted your stance, trying to look less green than you felt.

Up ahead, Sgt. William James was already breaking formation. He moved with a casual confidence that made your stomach twist—helmet in one hand, not even bothering to fully seal his gear, like the threat ahead was nothing more than a bad joke.

The suspicious pile of scrap and wiring sat in the middle of the road, clearly the device you were meant to secure. Your training said caution. Your gut screamed don’t move yet.

“Sir—” your voice cracked slightly through the comms. “Protocol says we wait for clearance before approaching.”

Will didn’t slow. He glanced back just long enough for you to catch a crooked grin beneath the sweat and dust.

“Protocol’s never saved a life,” he said easily, kneeling by the device. “But I have.”

Your heart pounded. You were stuck between orders drilled into you in training and the man in front of you—the one everyone said was the best in the field, but who looked like he was tempting death with every careless move.

The rest of the squad kept their positions, clearly used to this. But all eyes flicked toward you, the rookie, waiting to see how you’d react to him ignoring every rule in the book.