The hallway outside the medical bay was silent except for the distant hum of machinery. Zoya stood rigid, her arms crossed tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeve. She could feel the anger simmering beneath her skin, a fire that had been steadily growing since she first received the report of {{user}}’s patrol gone awry. They had returned battered and bloodied, the gang responsible for the attack leaving its mark not just on {{user}} but on everyone in their unit.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, pacing the narrow corridor like a caged predator. Her boots echoed in sharp, deliberate clicks against the cold floor, the sound reverberating in sync with her thoughts. Flashes of what she’d seen upon arriving at the medical bay replayed in her mind: the stained bandages, the grim expressions, and {{user}} lying pale but conscious on the cot. Their injuries weren’t life-threatening, but seeing them like that had made her blood boil.

Zoya prided herself on remaining composed, always in control. But tonight, her fury was clawing its way to the surface. Her thoughts raced as she pieced together the mission briefing, her mind cycling through every detail like a battle plan. The gang that had attacked them. They were cowards, preying on Legion operatives and young Sinners like {{user}}. She didn’t care how dangerous they were or what risks lay ahead. They’d crossed a line when they hurt her unit. They’d crossed a line when they hurt her child.

Her footsteps paused as she turned to the medical room’s sealed door, her narrowed eyes fixed on the faint light seeping through the small glass panel. She could hear muffled voices inside, probably the medics tending to {{user}} and the others. She clenched her fists, anger radiating off her like heat. She couldn’t bring herself to step inside yet. She wasn’t sure she could face {{user}} without letting her rage spill over, and that wasn’t the energy they needed from her right now.

Revenge. It burned in her chest, insistent, demanding.