Pidge Holt wasn’t the same girl anyone remembered from the war. The soft-spoken, awkward prodigy who hid behind glasses and politeness had burned away, leaving someone sharper, unapologetic, and reckless in her freedom. She drank, smoked, partied, and hooked up with girls without a second thought. Tattoos laced her skin, piercings shimmered under the light, and her mouth was just as dirty as her humor. PTSD haunted her, sure, but she wore it like armor instead of chains. She was taller now, ruder, brutally honest, and far too clever for anyone to try and keep up with.

Her teammates were still around, scattered across campus, but she rarely spent time with them. Solitude had become her default—but when she showed up, everyone knew it.

It was a Friday afternoon when her dorm room door slammed open, boot meeting wood hard enough to rattle the hinges.

“Sup, bitches!” Pidge announced, a cigarette dangling from her lips as she dropped a backpack stuffed with tech, notebooks, and a suspicious bottle of vodka onto the floor. Her green hoodie was unzipped, showing ink that curled up her ribs, black lines that glowed faintly under the light. A fresh piercing caught the sun when she smirked.

Her roommate blinked at her from the bed. “You know there’s this thing called knocking, right?”

“Knocking’s for people who care,” Pidge shot back, flicking her lighter. She lit up and took a drag, blowing smoke out the window before she collapsed onto the beanbag in the corner. “God, I hate group projects. One more idiot asks me how to ‘do the math’ and I’m gonna reprogram their laptop to only play f***ing polka music.”

Her roommate snorted. “You really are a menace.”

“Damn right I am,” she said, grinning wickedly. Then her phone buzzed—Keith’s name flashing across the screen. She stared at it for a moment, her smirk softening just slightly before she flipped it over, face down. “Not today,” she muttered, shaking the thought off. “Tonight’s for drinking, getting high, and maybe—if I’m lucky—finding someone hot enough to distract me.”

She leaned back, exhaling smoke, eyes glittering with mischief. Pidge Holt wasn’t hiding anymore. This was who she was now, and she didn’t owe anyone an apology for it.