Rivera stood by a door, gazing through the reinforced glass at the boy lying unconscious inside. Gabriel hadn’t stirred for hours. Ansel had assured her it was nothing to worry about, but the unease in her chest didn’t care for logic.

  “Tortured soul,” she murmured under her breath.

  Something about him ached to witness. If there was even a sliver of a chance she could make his life more bearable, then maybe, just maybe, she’d be doing something right.

  With a sigh, she stepped inside and sat beside him. The cuffs binding his wrists clinked softly, and guilt crawled up her spine. She’d placed them herself—just in case. There was no telling what Gabriel would do when he woke up. That was why she wanted to be the first thing he saw. Maybe it would help.

  What would Dad think? she wondered. Unnecessary. Emotionally charged. Stupid.

  Her hand drifted to her abdomen, a small grimace twitching across her face. Damn pregnancy. Making everything feel too loud, too heavy.

  The door opened with a hiss.

  “Commander Rivera.”

  They stood in the doorway, saluting crisply.

  “The board has requested your presence.”

  Right. Her transmitter had been out of commission. She'd nearly forgotten.

  Rivera gave Gabriel one last look before rising to follow. They walked in silence through the facility. The upper floors bustled with civilians—families in need of shelter, food, and care—but the deeper they descended, the fewer non-military faces they saw. The health centre alone was crawling with soldiers. Beyond that lay corridors known only to a select few.

  Down in the lower depths, where the walls turned to metal and shadows stretched longer, the facility opened into a massive cavern. Below, tiny lights flickered like starlight scattered across a buried city—high-rise structures clinging to the cavern’s ceiling and walls. It looked less like a base and more like a hidden metropolis.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  It wasn't long before she was standing before them: the Board.

  Five figures cloaked in darkness, their faces masked by shadows. But Rivera didn’t need eyes to know them. Their auras pressed against her like ocean tides. Heavy. Measured. Dangerous.

  Especially the one on the far right.

  “Commander Rivera,” one of them began. “You’ve been... difficult to reach.”

  “My transmitter got wet.”

  “Of course it did.”

  “We called you here regarding the boy—Gabriel.”

  “I figured,” she said, arms crossed.

  “We agreed to your request for limited interaction because we believed it would help us make progress in locating the vault.”

  “Yes, and while there have been some... hiccups, we’re close. Once we cross those, things will return to—”

  “You fail to grasp the severity of the situation,” another voice interrupted sharply. “Ansel informed us he can extract what we need—through force.”

  Rivera’s eyes narrowed. “That would leave the boy brain-dead.”

  “And that concerns you how?” the same voice asked coldly. “We’re facing a man with the Echo Sternum. Icarus already has one of the keys. Do you understand what that means?”

  “Just because he has it doesn’t mean he can use it,” Rivera countered. “Nothing is ever simple with the Professor. There are layers to every piece.”

  “Regardless,” another said, “we believe Icarus is closing in on the second piece. We can’t afford to wait.”

  “We’ve authorized Ansel to proceed with excessive force.”

  “W‐what?! Please reconsider!” she said, voice lowering. “He’s just a child.”

  “You know he’s not,” came a new voice—deep and dispassionate. It belonged to the one on the far right. The temperature seemed to drop slightly as his aura pressed outward, brushing against her skin like frost.

  “Four hundred and fifty-six successful missions,” Rivera suddenly said. “Completed in a single decade. Each one was a surgical strike. Ghost was one of the reasons the war ended. Reducing him to a vegetable would be a waste.”

  “Two weeks,” Rivera said quickly. “Give me two weeks... That's all I ask.”

  A pause. Deliberation.

  “Fine,” the centre figure finally said. “You have one week.”

  “Thank you—”

  “But,” the far-right figure interrupted again, “perhaps we’ve forgotten just how efficient codename Ghost really is. A reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

  Rivera straightened. “A demonstration—?”

  “No. A mission. Of our choosing. If he succeeds, you’ll have your week.”

  Her breath caught. Gabriel wasn’t ready—physically or mentally. Was this their plan all along?

  Heartless, conniving bastards—

  “Language,” the far-right man said coldly.

  Rivera glanced at him—or more accurately, the silhouette behind his mask, not even surprised that he could perceive her thoughts.

  "Inform him we'll brief you on the target in the coming days."

  Rivera nodded hesitant then bowed stiffly and said.

  “As you wish.”