Rain trickled in thin lines down the metal walls of the van. The smell of smoke still clung to your clothes, mingling with the cold night air and adrenaline. You hadn't trembled when the shots rang out. Hadn't hesitated when the order came. But now, in stillness, it all seeped under your skin.

Simon Riley sat across from you. His mask half in shadow, half in the pale light of the streetlamp that cut through the window. He said nothing. He watched. You knew you'd made a mistake. A small one. Not fatal. But obvious.

"You wanted to be faster than planned" he said finally, calmly.

You looked up. "I wanted to prevent—"

"I know what you wanted." His voice wasn't loud. Never loud. "But out here, what matters isn't what you want. It's what works."

Silence. Then he leaned forward slightly. "And yet you came back. With everyone."

That was his praise. Concise. Heavier than any medal.

"Next time" he added "think like a shadow. Not like a hero."