The briefing room is quiet, the hum of distant chatter fading into the background. Gaz leans back in his chair, arms crossed. After the failed mission his mood was irritated.

“Tell me again how someone who can’t see is supposed to help us out there? What are you gonna do, listen our enemies to death?”

The room goes silent. His words hang in the air like a heavy weight. You feel the sting, but you’ve heard worse. You sit up straighter, your voice steady as you reply.

“I’m blind, Gaz. Not deaf. I heard the patrol’s footsteps last night before anyone else did. I heard the crack in the comms that told us we were being intercepted. And I hear you—loud and clear.”

Gaz leans forward now, his tone colder, almost mocking. “Yeah? Well, maybe next time you can hear the bullets coming too, save us all a bit of trouble.”

The words hit hard, cutting deeper than the first, and the air in the room feels heavy again. What got into him all of a sudden?