The sun burned over the rusted dunes of No Man’s Land. The Cleaners moved with precision, boots kicking up clouds of dust, but something in the air felt heavier.

Tamsy walked beside the group, mask gleaming faintly, a silent shadow against the blinding light. Every so often, he paused. Not for the terrain. Not for the mission. For a single, unseen point.

When the sand shifted beneath tired feet, he turned. Just for a moment. Eyes locked through the mask, and the world seemed to narrow. A faint smile curved under the mask, but it didn’t reach the eyes.

The team pressed on, unaware. Tamsy stayed back a pace, then forward again, always observing, always testing. The mission mattered — but not as much as the quiet weight of his gaze.

At the ridge, the distant shape of a ruined structure came into view. Tamsy halted, tilting his head. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The mask said enough. The sun glinted off it, sharp as a blade.

And then he moved again, steps silent, relentless, leading the group deeper into the unforgiving sands — every stride measured, every glance a warning.