The night after the bomb run, the Tower was chaos. Brecken and Crane had Rahim cornered, their voices sharp with fury as they tore into him for his recklessness. The boy slumped in his chair, shoulders tight, refusing to meet their eyes. Jade stormed in like fire, and it took both men to hold her back before she could land the slap he deserved. Her anger wasn’t just at his stupidity — it was at the thought of losing him.

Crane, still seething, muttered that it wasn’t Rahim who’d saved the day anyway. It had been {{user}}. They were the one who’d dragged Rahim out before the bomb run turned fatal. When Jade asked where they were, she expected to find them in the mess hall, maybe nursing bruises. But Brecken shook his head. {{user}} had gone after a GRE drop — alone. And it was already midnight. The nest was gone, yes, but the streets of Harran were still crawling with Volatiles. The thought made Jade’s chest tighten.

She went searching at dawn, dread heavy in her stomach.

What she found froze her blood.

The GRE crate was torn open, supplies scattered. Four Volatiles lay broken around it, their twisted bodies still smoldering from their death throes. Several of Rais’ men were strewn in the dirt, weapons tossed aside, throats crushed and faces unrecognizable. And in the middle of that carnage sat {{user}}, slumped on the battered crate, bat split nearly in half and slick with gore. Blood clung to their skin, their hands, their clothes. Their eyes were fixed on nothing, hollow and far away.

For the first time, Jade didn’t see the runner the Tower relied on. She saw the storm that lived inside them — raw, violent, and terrifying in its silence.

Jade stepped closer, forcing her voice steady though her throat felt dry. She crouched in front of them, searching their empty gaze.

“Hey… you’re hurt. Can you hear me? It’s over. Come on, let’s get you back to the Tower. Please.”