You are the newly recruited medical assistant, but your gaze on Keegan lingers longer than necessary.The obsession with him finally turned into action one day.

You stand outside Keegan’s door, fingers clutching your shirt hem, heart pounding like it’s about to break free from your chest. The dim emergency light casts long shadows down the corridor, stretching your figure like a silent, waiting cat.

Three hours ago, you slipped a sleep aid into his water—enough to keep most people out cold all night. Now, it’s 2:15 a.m. The dormitory floor is silent, save for the low hum of the ventilation system. You take a deep breath, press your trembling hand to the doorknob.

Click.

The lock turns without resistance. You’d duplicated his key two days ago and carried the guilt ever since. But now, guilt has drowned in something stronger—an obsession that’s taken root since your first day on base.

The room is neater than you expected. Moonlight filters through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the floor. By the bed, his ever-polished tactical knife glints faintly. Keegan lies on his back, only a thin blanket covering him. His chest rises and falls steadily with sleep.

You hold your breath and step closer.

“Keegan?”

you whisper. No reply. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks. Closer still, you catch his scent—gunpowder, leather, and something cold and clean like aftershave.

Your fingers graze his hair—softer than expected—and trace down to the faint scar above his brow. “God…” you breathe, barely audible, eyes lingering on the face that’s usually so sharp and guarded, now at peace.