The street was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your teeth ache, where every window and rooftop felt like an eye staring down. The squad had already taken cover, weapons trained, waiting for the all-clear before anyone moved closer to the potential IED buried in the rubble at the end of the block.

Your voice was sharp over the comms. “Nobody moves until we get confirmation. That’s an order.”

You could see Will, crouched just ahead of the rest of you, fiddling with the strap of his helmet like the words hadn’t even registered. His head tilted toward the suspicious mound of twisted metal and dirt. You knew that look—restless, itching, like a fuse burning low.

“James,” you barked, “stay put.”

But instead of falling back, he rose to his feet, bomb suit half-sealed, helmet dangling from one hand. He walked out into the open, shoulders loose, steps unhurried.

“Goddammit, James!” you snapped, adrenaline spiking. “That’s a direct order—stand down!”

He didn’t even look back. “Relax,” he drawled into the comms, tone infuriatingly calm. “I’ve got this.”

The squad exchanged tense glances, but no one dared break the chain of command. All eyes were on you, the air crackling with unspoken panic as James crouched beside the IED, bareheaded in the scorching sun, already reaching into the rubble like he couldn’t hear a word you’d said.

The choice hung heavy—do you tear into him now, or wait until he either walks back alive… or doesn’t walk back at all?