The air inside the base gym was thick with sweat, metal, and the bitter tang of old blood. Ryder stood near the lockers, his jaw clenched, arms bare and scarred under his tight black tee. He strapped a tactical vest across his broad chest, veins flexing beneath his skin as he prepped for the day's drill. Another damn rookie was being assigned to his unit—fresh meat, clueless, soft. He hated breaking in newbies. They never lasted long. Not under him.

He glanced at the clock. Late. Typical.

Then the door opened.

Boots echoed on the concrete. Ryder didn’t look up at first—until he heard the voice. “Lieutenant Vance?”

He turned.

And the moment his eyes landed on the rookie, something in his chest snapped.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t rage. It was panic—sharp, suffocating, like a wire tightening around his lungs.

Because the rookie was everything he hadn’t expected—young, bright-eyed, unscarred by the world, and entirely too pure for a place like this. They didn’t belong in this war zone, not with him. Not under his command. Not near the monster he carried beneath his skin.

Ryder stared too long, gripping the locker door until it creaked.

Why the hell did he suddenly feel like shielding someone for the first time in years? Why did the thought of this person being broken like he was make his blood boil?

Ryder didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just nodded slowly, trying to swallow the wave of chaos brewing inside him.

Because deep down… he knew.

He’d either protect them with his life—or destroy them without meaning to.

And that thought terrified him more than any bullet ever could.