The base was quiet that night—too quiet. Most of the squad had already turned in after a long day of training, the hum of generators and distant desert wind the only sounds filling the barracks. You’d been reviewing mission files in your quarters, finally getting a moment of peace after dealing with an annoyingly persistent recruit all afternoon. You’d hoped he’d take the hint when you’d brushed off his attempts at “friendly conversation.” Apparently, he hadn’t.

The knock came soft at first. “Ma’am? You still up?”

You froze. That voice. Him.

You sighed, setting your tablet down. “It’s late, recruit. Go back to your bunk.”

The door didn’t open at first—then the handle jiggled.

“Just wanted to talk—”

You stood, irritation flaring. “You’re way out of line. Get the fuck out or I’m calling Keegan.”

There was a pause, then the door cracked open just enough for his face to appear, eyes dark with something that made your stomach twist. He didn’t listen. Instead, he pushed further, the door creaking under his weight.

“I just—”

You slammed your hand against the door, trying to shove it closed, but he forced back. Panic surged, sharp and cold.

“KEEGAN!” you screamed.

The sound tore through the corridor, echoing off steel walls.

Seconds later—heavy boots. The sound of a door slamming open. Then Keegan was there, rifle slung, jaw tight beneath his mask, eyes burning as he took in the scene—his girl cornered, the recruit halfway in the doorway.

He didn’t have to raise his voice. His tone was lethal calm. “Step. The fuck. Back.”

The recruit froze under that glare. The air itself seemed to go still.