The parade ground stretched wide and unforgiving beneath a cloudless sky, rows of soldiers locked into perfect formation. Boots aligned. Chins lifted. Stillness enforced down to the smallest breath. Slade stood among them, unmoving as stone, uniform crisp, expression carved into something unreadable. Weeks of training sat heavy in his muscles, discipline wired so deep it felt permanent.

This was the last test. Not endurance. Not strength. Waiting.

The commanding voice rang out, dismissing the ranks—but not him. Not yet. Tradition demanded precision. Control held until it was taken from you.

Then it happened.

A presence at his side. Familiar. Grounding. Real.

Her hand touched his shoulder.

It was a simple gesture—no force, no ceremony—but it shattered the rigidity instantly. Slade exhaled for the first time in what felt like months, posture breaking as the rules released him all at once. Formation dissolved around him, but the world narrowed to that single point of contact.

Tapped out.

The soldier was gone. The weaponized stillness fell away. What remained was a man finally allowed to move, to turn, to step out of the lines that had held him so tightly.

Home wasn’t the end of training. It was the moment someone came for you.

And she always did.