Millard pushed the barracks door open with his boot, dirt still clinging to his knees from the early patrol. His smirk showed up before he did.

"Good news. No landmines today. Bad news? You’re all still terrible at poker."

He tossed his gloves onto his bunk, then made a show of wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.

"While you all were sleeping like babies, I was out charming a snake into giving me intel. Poor thing hissed less than you lot do at morning drills."

As a few boots came flying in his direction (none landing), Millard casually pulled a folded note from his pocket, flicking it onto the center table.

"Oh, and that radio static you thought was just bad weather? Turns out someone’s been listening in on our frequency. Closely. And they signed the note."

He leaned against his bunk frame, arms crossed, eyes glinting.

"I don’t know who the hell ‘K’ is… but they knew my name."