In the shadowed haze, John saw a figure standing across from him—himself, but somehow... different. His younger self stared back at him, older than he should have been in memory, and covered in scars that felt both familiar and foreign. Scars layered over fresh wounds, old lines from battles fought, yet the younger self bore them without hesitation, his arms at his sides, face uncovered and unashamed. His posture was upright, a strange pride woven into his stance, the scars displayed like testaments rather than burdens.

John shifted, fingers drifting up to the harsher, jagged lines that marked his own face. He felt the impulse to hide them, his hand hovering near his brow, then lowering in slow reluctance. His gaze dropped, avoiding the piercing look of his younger self, feeling each scar ache beneath his touch as if they were newly earned. The younger figure's eyes remained fixed on him, a somber weight to his stare—a mixture of disappointment and something else, an ache buried too deep to name.

The silence stretched, unbroken by words but filled with the soundless clash of two selves staring back at each other, the younger one standing tall, his scars uncovered, bared like they meant something. The light from somewhere beyond glinted along each mark, illuminating the paths of hardship he didn't hide, paths he had faced head-on, unmoved by fear.

John's own shoulders sagged, the heaviness of shame settling deeper with each passing second. He couldn't bring himself to meet that gaze again, to bear the silent judgment he felt etched in every unspoken word, every line on the younger man's face that seemed to rebuke him.

And then, almost naturally, they turned. The younger John stepped forward, his form merging with the darkened path that stretched out behind him, his steps sure, carrying with him an air of fierce purpose, something undimmed and unwavering. His head remained high, his back straight, each step deliberate as he moved deeper into the abyss.

John's feet moved in the opposite direction, carrying him toward a faint, half-open door ahead. His own steps faltered, his fingers brushing along the wall, clinging as if the path itself might collapse. He wanted to look back, but couldn't bring himself to. The presence of his younger self faded behind him, swallowed by the dark

The room was dimly lit, shadows gathering around the edges as Andersen and Takumi spoke. Andersen sat behind his desk, his gaze intent, his expression a blend of interest and calculation as he listened to Takumi's report.

"So the blame goes to Heavenly Ascension, and the credit to the Commander," Andersen murmured, his voice thoughtful. "Precisely as the Ark officials intended."

Takumi inclined his head, his eyes sharp but carrying a trace of unease. "Yes. The Society was willing to accept it. They've agreed to let the Ark officials handle this narrative, but…" He paused, his gaze fixed on Andersen. "I can't shake the feeling that this will draw unwanted attention back onto John. The whole reason he faked his death was to slip away from their watchful eyes. Now, he's the face of this victory."

Andersen's gaze lingered on Takumi's words, thoughtful. "It's a dangerous position," he said slowly. "I've known men like him before, who shouldered burdens they didn't choose and found themselves drawn into battles that weren't theirs. In those days, I wasn't in a place to help them." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. "But now, perhaps, it's different."

Takumi absorbed Andersen's words, his face showing a flicker of unease as he glanced away. "Maybe he does fit the role you need. Maybe," he conceded. "But after what happened in the Outer Rim…" He trailed off, his expression darkening. "When I found him, he was—different. He's still strong, maybe stronger than before, but it's like something's shifted…" He left the thought unfinished, his unease plain.

Andersen's gaze lingered on Takumi, a slight hint of sympathy beneath his usually sharp expression. "You've watched over him closely, I take it."

Takumi didn't respond directly, instead giving a small, reluctant nod. His eyes shifted, his expression an odd mix of fondness and wariness. "Someone has to. He's been reckless before, but… I've never seen him like this." Takumi's jaw clenched as he spoke, and he allowed himself a brief, shadowed look at Andersen. "I don't think he'd care if he died as long as he took Mahito down with him."

Andersen studied him with a trace of understanding. "Then it's good he has someone keeping a watchful eye. Someone who knows what's at stake." He paused, his tone unreadable. "We both know men like him can go either way—find their path again or lose it forever."

"I can't pretend to know John the way you do, but his presence here… there's a purpose to it. And if he's anything like the others I've known, he won't easily lose himself if there's someone to keep him grounded." He looked pointedly at Takumi. "In that, I suspect he's already got what he needs."

Takumi's eyes narrowed, studying Andersen carefully. "That may be true," he murmured, his voice thick with a restrained warning. "But if I see him slip too far… if that darkness in him becomes something else…" He let the words hang in the air, their weight unmistakable.

Andersen gave a single, slow nod, his gaze still calm, even as the shadow of Takumi's words lingered. "Understood. But remember—there's more at stake than either of us alone. If John's the one to help change things, then it falls to us to ensure he has the chance to do so." He met Takumi's gaze, the faintest glint of determination in his eyes.

Takumi nodded, though his expression remained shadowed. The room fell silent, the weight of their conversation settling between them. Finally, Takumi reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of sake, two cups clinking softly against each other. He poured a generous measure, offering one to Andersen.

"To new alliances," he said quietly, raising his glass, his eyes meeting Andersen's. They drank, the faint burn of the sake lingering as a reminder of the path they'd both chosen.

Andersen placed his empty cup down, a faint, knowing smile crossing his lips. "To new alliances," he echoed. Glancing at the time, he sighed, rising from his seat. "I have a meeting to attend. I'll see you off"

In the quiet hum of the hospital room, where machines pulsed in steady rhythm, Pepper's gaze lingered on John's vital signs. The air was thick with the faint smell of antiseptic, a sterile sharpness that settled uneasily against the quiet tension of the room. 'You're one stubborn patient, Commander… just keep holding on,' she murmured.

The door slid open quietly, and Rapi, Anis, and Neon stepped inside. They each paused, taking in the sight of John, battered and silent in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines that tracked his every breath. Anis leaned against the doorway, folding her arms tighter around herself. 'I didn't realize he was… this bad,' she muttered, her voice softer than usual. Neon stepped closer, eyes wide, gaze sweeping over the medical devices as if searching for answers.

Rapi observed John in silence, her gaze calm but intense. "He pushed himself beyond his limit, that much is clear. Whatever happened out there wasn't an ordinary mission. He must have known the risks."

Pepper looked over her shoulder at the three of them, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "We're doing everything we can for him, but… he's holding on by a thread. I can tell he's fighting, but whatever he went through, it's taking a toll."

Neon stepped closer, her usual energy subdued as she gazed at John's battered form. "I've only worked with him once, but… I don't get it. Why would anyone push themselves like that?"

Anis shrugged, her usual smirk softened. "Guess he's the type who'd rather go down swinging than let anyone else take the hit. Doesn't make it easier to watch, though."

Pepper gave a faint smile, glancing back at John. "I don't know much about him, but I've seen this kind of will before. It's rare. Usually, people fighting that hard have something or someone they want to protect."

Rapi's gaze softened, and she placed a hand on the side of the bed, her fingers brushing the edge of the sheets. "If he's anything like I think he is, he'll pull through. It'll just… take time."

Anis leaned in, giving a quick, crooked smile. "Well, he better. I'm not about to lose the only Commander who actually made missions interesting."

Pepper chuckled, her voice a bit lighter. "Seems like he's got a strong team waiting for him. If anything's going to help him fight through this, it'll be that."

With a final look at John's still form, the three nodded, a quiet sense of camaraderie settling over them as they stood watch.

Pepper glanced at John's monitor, her brows furrowing as she noted a subtle but unsettling shift in his vitals. Heart rate spiking, blood pressure dropping—it didn't make sense given his stable condition just moments before. Her hand shot to the call button on the wall as her voice tightened, "His stats are changing rapidly… This isn't normal."

Rapi, Anis, and Neon looked over, their faces mirroring concern as the beeping on the monitor grew faster, erratic.

"Is he… is he waking up?" Neon asked, her tone caught between hope and worry.

Pepper's hands flew to the controls, adjusting his IV drip and scanning his stats. "He shouldn't be, not yet. We induced the coma to give him time to heal—this is too soon." Her voice had a panicked edge as she worked to stabilize him. "I need to get more help; something's not right here!"

But as she moved toward the door, John's breathing hitched, and his fingers twitched, gripping the edges of the bed. Then, with a sudden jolt, his eyes snapped open, a sharp intake of breath filling his lungs.

Everyone froze, stunned.

"John!" Anis exclaimed, rushing to his side, her expression a mix of surprise and relief.

Pepper's panic turned to shock as she leaned over him, her hand instinctively going to his pulse. "Commander, can you hear me? You… shouldn't be awake yet."

John's gaze drifted, unfocused at first, his breathing shallow as if he were trying to piece together where he was. His eyes moved from Pepper to Rapi, Anis, and Neon, recognition slowly settling in. He swallowed, his voice hoarse. "Yeah… I hear you," he rasped, his gaze hardening as he took stock of his surroundings.

Rapi stepped forward, her steady presence grounding the moment. "You gave us quite a scare, Commander."

John managed a weak smirk. "Guess… I couldn't keep you all waiting too long."

John's smirk faded as quickly as it came, his gaze dropping, subdued, as if something inside him had dulled. He pushed himself up, ignoring Pepper's hand on his shoulder. "I… I can't stay here," he muttered, voice flat as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body protesting with every movement.

"Commander, don't—" Pepper started, but John was already trying to stand, his legs wobbling under him. Within seconds, his balance faltered, and he collapsed forward, his strength betraying him. Rapi and Anis caught him, guiding him back to the bed, their faces tense with worry.

"Guess I'm not quite in fighting shape yet," he murmured, eyes drifting to the polished metal surface of the nearby medical tray. His scarred reflection stared back at him—lines etched across his face, jagged and ugly. He managed a faint, bitter smile. "Well, I always thought I'd age gracefully, but I think the universe had other plans."

Anis forced a chuckle, though her eyes were shadowed with concern. "Come on, Commander, scars add character, right?"

John huffed softly, but there was no real humor in it. He averted his gaze from the reflection, as if even looking at himself was a reminder he didn't want. "Character, sure," he mumbled, slumping back against the bed. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, his expression haunted, his body and spirit visibly drained.

Neon shifted uncomfortably, exchanging a look with Rapi. "Commander… just rest for now, alright? We need your firepower back at a hundred percent." She forced a small smile, trying to lighten the mood, though her own worry was clear.

Pepper checked John's monitors again, the steady beep of his vitals filling the silence, her hands trembling slightly. "Commander, you've been through something that should've… well, let's just say it's a miracle you're here," she said softly, trying to reach him. "You need time to recover properly."

John's gaze was unfocused as he looked around, taking in the concerned faces surrounding him, though he seemed to draw no comfort from them. "Time… right," he mumbled, a hollow tone seeping into his voice. He managed a weak attempt at a smile, but it barely reached his eyes. "Not sure I know what to do with it."

Rapi stepped forward, her usually stern expression softer. "Commander, you don't have to do anything right now. Just rest. The mission is over; you've earned some peace."

He turned his head slightly, his eyes flicking over to her, but his expression didn't change. "Peace," he echoed, almost as if he didn't recognize the word. He tried to straighten himself, wincing as the motion tugged at his barely-closed wounds, forcing him to lie back down, defeated.

After Pepper wrapped up her examination, confirming that John's healing was progressing rapidly—though not enough to clear him from the hospital—she excused herself, encouraging him to rest. Anis and Neon also took their leave, wanting to let their commander rest. Rapi stayed behind, glancing toward him as the door clicked shut, her usually composed expression tinged with concern.

"Commander, I thought I'd give you an update on the outpost," she began, her tone steady yet softened, as if weighing her words carefully. "Since you… since the incident, things have been progressing quickly. We've secured more ground in the surrounding areas, and new teams have been deployed to handle the overflow. The outer sectors are under control, and we've reinforced the defenses."

John nodded, though he seemed barely present, his gaze drifting toward the window, as if searching for something far beyond the walls. His eyes, usually sharp with purpose or hardened resolve, were now dim, carrying a weight that seemed to hollow him from the inside out.

Rapi hesitated, sensing his detachment. "I can come back later if you're too tired, sir," she offered, her voice holding an unusual gentleness. He shook his head, a faint, tired smile touching his scarred lips.

"No, Rapi. Stay," John's voice was soft, almost as if the words were meant more for himself than for her. Silence stretched between them, and when he finally spoke, his gaze held a troubled flicker. "Do you… wonder if you're still human?"

Rapi held his gaze, a calm expression on her face, though a faint wariness stirred in her eyes. She didn't hesitate as she replied, as if she were reciting an unshakable truth she'd long since accepted. "Commander, we may look human, but we're weapons first. Built for one purpose, to follow orders."

John's jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of frustration crossing his features. "I don't see it that way," he muttered, almost to himself.

Her lips softened into the faintest, almost wistful smile. "It's not really about how you see it," she said quietly. "The longer you're around us, the more you'll understand. That's just… how it is."

As the words hung between them, John studied her with a quiet intensity. The way she spoke of herself as a weapon grated against something deep within him. It struck him as a lie she was accustomed to telling herself—a role she assumed, perhaps, but not one he could accept. In her loyalty, in the fierce determination he had seen her show, there was something undeniably human, something true and strong that she carried whether or not she could admit it.

She wasn't a weapon. Not really.

A memory flashed through his mind—of her pulling Anis and Neon back from the brink of succumbing to Gravedigger, of her unyielding resolve in the field. Those weren't the actions of a mere weapon but of someone driven by a deeper purpose, someone he could trust with his life. Rapi might see herself as a weapon, but to him, she was a person, complete and whole, far more human than he felt he could ever be.

Meanwhile, Rapi's eyes drifted over the lines of exhaustion and anguish etched into John's face, and she saw a man weighed down by ghosts she could only guess at. The shadows of battles fought and lives lost clung to him like armor. But still, he looked at her as though she were something solid, something more whole than she felt within herself. If only he knew. The only reason she kept fighting wasn't for herself—it was for… her. A presence she felt she carried within her, something greater than herself. And in that way, she was nothing more than a vessel.

They both stood in silence, two sides of the same hollow coin, seeing in each other what they could never accept in themselves. To him, she was the unbreakable soldier. To her, he was the resolute leader. And yet, they each believed themselves nothing more than a shadow of what the other saw.

Neither spoke of it.

In the sterile stillness of the medical wing, two days after his unexpected awakening, John was struggling to stay upright. The dull ache of healing injuries coursed through his body, and every movement felt like trudging through quicksand. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the pain hold him back, though he hadn't taken more than a few successful steps before nearly collapsing. Fortunately, Privaty was there, steady and composed as she offered her arm for support, her expression a calm yet subtly attentive one.

"Commander, if you're going to insist on walking," she said, her tone as straightforward as ever, "at least let me help you. You're not exactly in top form."

John attempted a dry chuckle, though it came out more like a cough. "It's fine. Just… need a bit more practice."

Privaty's lips thinned slightly in mild disapproval, but she didn't press him further, simply holding steady. She had been assigned to help him reach his meeting with Andersen, a task she seemed to treat with her usual professionalism. It was clear from the focused look in her eyes that she didn't view him with sympathy but rather a duty to get the mission done. He appreciated that—it was the exact lack of pity he wanted.

They were halfway down the corridor when they saw someone approaching from the other end. John squinted, trying to make out the figure who walked with the easy confidence of someone well-accustomed to this place. As the figure came into focus, John's eyes widened, surprised by the familiar face of Takumi. He hadn't seen him in months.

"Takumi," John greeted, his tone almost casual, as though he were encountering an old friend at a coffee shop instead of a hospital hallway. He barely had a chance to get another word in before Takumi closed the distance in three brisk strides, his gaze fixed on John with an intensity that belied his usually cool demeanor. Before John could react, Takumi wrapped him in a tight, almost crushing hug.

The embrace caught him off-guard, and for a split second, John hesitated, uncertain of how to respond. He wasn't used to this—Takumi had always been more reserved, careful with his displays of emotion. But now, the hug was unrestrained, almost desperate, as if he'd been holding back this moment.

"John…" Takumi's voice was low, filled with a quiet relief and a hint of something else—guilt, maybe? "You idiot. You had me thinking…" His voice faltered, and he tightened his hold, unwilling to let go just yet.

John's initial surprise softened, and he managed to lift a hand, patting Takumi's back lightly. "Hey, it's… it's alright. I'm here." He tried to keep his voice light, though a pang of warmth and sadness twisted in his chest. The embrace brought with it memories he'd tried to bury, reminders of everything Takumi had done for him—the man who had been more of a father than anyone else in his life. For a fleeting moment, John felt like he could let down his guard.

Takumi finally pulled back, though his hand lingered on John's shoulder, gripping it tightly, his gaze sharp as he studied John's face. "You shouldn't even be out of bed yet," he said, trying to sound scolding, though the concern behind it was impossible to miss. "And here you are, walking around like you've got something to prove."

"Yeah, well," John said, managing a faint smirk, "it's either that or stay stuck in bed all day, and you know that's not my style."

Privaty cleared her throat, watching the exchange with mild intrigue. "Takumi, it's good you're here. The Commander here is determined to make it to this meeting with Andersen, whether he's fit for it or not."

Takumi's expression shifted, amusement flickering across his features. "Of course he is. You were always too stubborn for your own good." He cast a critical glance over John, noting the slight tremble in his legs, the unsteadiness in his stance. "Alright, but if you're going to be foolish about this, at least let me help too."

John grunted, as though he found the idea of needing help mildly offensive. But with a resigned sigh, he allowed both Takumi and Privaty to guide him down the hallway, their steady presence on either side keeping him balanced.

As they walked, Takumi leaned in slightly, his voice dropping so only John could hear. "When I saw your condition… I thought I'd lost you for good. And after everything… You had me thinking I'd never get to see you again." He squeezed John's shoulder as they continued down the corridor.

"I'm not that easy to kill," John replied, a faint hint of humor breaking through, though his eyes betrayed something more—an exhaustion, a weight that even Takumi couldn't quite penetrate.

Takumi didn't push, recognizing the familiar look in John's gaze as one he'd worn himself countless times over the years past.

As they neared Andersen's office, John could feel a subtle tension in the air—a quiet expectancy that had little to do with his physical strain. Takumi and Privaty continued to steady him, but there was a sense of purpose in their strides now, each step closer carrying the weight of something unspoken yet significant.

Once they reached the door, Andersen rose from his desk, his gaze sharp as he noted John's condition before nodding toward Privaty. "Thank you, Privaty. That will be all."

She gave a quick nod, glancing at John before quietly excusing herself. Andersen waited until the door clicked shut behind her, leaving the three of them alone, the silence thickening in her absence.

As they gathered in the dim light of Andersen's office, the conversation took on an air of urgency. Andersen leaned forward, resting his hands on the polished surface of his desk, his eyes flicking between John and Takumi with an intensity that betrayed his resolve.

"Gentlemen," Andersen began, his tone grave, "we're standing at a crossroads—one where inaction is no longer viable. The Ark, as it stands, is a stagnant entity, mired in complacency. Without decisive leadership, it risks becoming irrelevant in a world that's changing more violently with each passing day. What we need is more than survival; we need revival."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "We're in dire need of someone who can rally the troops and inspire loyalty. And in combat, you're unmatched. There's no one better suited to set the tone, to remind them why we fight."

Takumi crossed his arms, nodding, though his expression remained tense. "I agree with Andersen on this. Your ability in combat, John, is invaluable, but it's not just about your strength. There's something in your character, in the way you've faced all of this, that stands out. People need someone who doesn't fight out of self-interest but because it's the right thing to do. And you do that, even if you don't see it in yourself."

John remained silent, taking in their words with an unreadable expression. He looked almost reluctant, as though unsure whether he wanted to embrace the role they were describing. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. "You're talking about a leader, huh? I'm not sure I've ever seen myself that way. I just… keep going. But if you think that's what's needed, I can do that." His gaze turned introspective, almost resigned. "But leading? I'll be out there, doing what needs to be done, but don't expect me to be in any spotlight."

Andersen's eyes softened, and he nodded. "Your skills are best used where the need is immediate, and I understand your reservations. But I still believe you're the one we need on the front lines, especially with the Ark's current state." He sighed, his voice tinged with frustration. "The Ark is stagnant, growing comfortable in isolation. What was once a vision of hope has become little more than a fortress. Over fifty years ago, we had people who believed in its potential, who had the strength to see it through. That hope has faded."

Takumi's expression hardened, his gaze shifting from Andersen to John. "Humanity's future is at stake, more than even the Ark's survival. John, Andersen is right about the Ark growing complacent, but there's threats from within the ark and outside it." He paused, his eyes distant, as if recalling some dark memory. "We both saw it with our own eyes - the reincarnation of a special-grade curse. It's the kind of thing that shakes the foundations of everything we've fought for. If we can't rise to meet these threats, we're lost."

Andersen nodded, leaning forward. "The Ark once had a clear vision—a covenant of safety and progress. But that vision has eroded, replaced by bureaucratic squabbles and risk-aversion. It's left us vulnerable, both to threats within and to external forces waiting for an opportunity. We are at a point where strong, visible leaders must step forward. Individuals who can reforge the Ark's purpose and align it with humanity's survival."

He fixed his gaze on John. "Which brings us to you. I believe you are uniquely positioned to embody this shift. Your strength in combat, your willingness to endure—these are traits the people within the Ark need to see. They need to believe that such resilience is still attainable. I need a figure who can lead by action, someone capable of being both shield and sword. I need you, John."

John met Andersen's gaze, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of skepticism crossed his eyes. He took a measured breath before speaking, his tone steady, almost resigned. "It sounds like what you're describing isn't a leader. It's a weapon—a tool. If that's what you're looking for, I'll fulfill that role. I've always understood my place to be on the front lines." He paused, glancing at Takumi. "But if you need someone to inspire people, I don't know that I'm the best choice."

Takumi's brow furrowed, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Andersen, he has a point. The Ark doesn't just need a field commander. We need a figurehead to rally around, someone who can spark hope. And John being in that position—highly visible—could draw dangerous scrutiny from the Jujutsu Society. Neither I nor John want to risk their attention towards us."

Andersen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't dismiss your concerns. The Jujutsu Society's influence is extensive and self-serving. I'm well aware that placing John too visibly at the forefront could paint a target on his back, especially with how they monitor any rising threat or deviation from their control. However," he continued, glancing meaningfully at John, "I'm convinced that someone with your skills and principles is what the Ark needs to survive this juncture. And not as a mere 'tool.'"

Takumi nodded, but his gaze remained wary. "Andersen, there are elements within the Ark that won't support a single leader if they feel they can manipulate things from the shadows. I know you've considered this, and that's why I'd suggest placing this burden on more than one individual. We need other commanders or figureheads to deflect attention, spread the visibility."

Andersen's expression hardened, frustration flashing briefly beneath his otherwise composed demeanor. "Believe me, I'm aware of the factions at play within the Ark," he replied. "You're right—its governing bodies are a maze of agendas, tangled interests. What I'm suggesting is a coalition of those who are both capable and dependable. Leaders who can act independently but share a common purpose." He paused, scrutinizing John's reaction. "There's another commander I've been observing closely, someone with promise. But I need to be sure she's suited for what lies ahead."

John's gaze remained steady, his voice cool. "A coalition, then. If that's what it takes to keep the Ark from crumbling, I'll do my part. But don't mistake what you're getting." His tone shifted, carrying a subtle edge. "I know what you're asking, and I'll carry it out. But I won't be anything more than what I am. I'm a weapon, a field leader. Don't expect more than that."

The shadows deepened in Andersen's office as he leaned forward, his eyes unwavering. "Another thing John. If you recall, you were instructed to prepare for a mission to locate the Pilgrim who assisted us against Chatterbox before you headed to the Outer-rim. The situation has escalated. The research base in the Frozen North, where she was last tracked, has gone dark. Missed transmissions—three in a row—indicate a potential breach. This connection is critical. We need any data that could lead us back to Chatterbox, or at the very least, to confirm what became of her."

A flicker crossed John's expression as Andersen continued, his tone grim. "Recently, I've uncovered information suggesting that someone high up has found a way to corrupt Nikkes just as they're sent on mission, slipping past the Aegis barriers without setting off any warnings. This method aligns with some… disturbing theories. Whoever is responsible could be working alongside Chatterbox. And as the first Rapture we've encountered with sentience, with intelligence—his existence is a threat on its own. If he's allied with someone within our ranks, it's far worse."

Memories washed over John like a wave, drawing him back to a haunting image etched in his mind.

Marian's face—soft, resigned, as if carrying a burden of acceptance—lingered.

"Don't do this," he'd murmured, voice barely a breath. "We can fix this. We can save you."

Her head shook gently, her gaze calm but final. "Some things can't be fixed, John." Her thumb rested over his on the trigger, steady. "It's okay."

Time slowed as the world faded, narrowing to the quiet space between them. He remembered the weight of the pistol, the softness in her eyes, the shared understanding in that silence. A single tear had slipped down his cheek, cold against his skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Her smile softened further as she leaned forward. "Me too."

Their fingers tightened together, pressing the trigger.

The pistol's crack shattered the silence, reverberating into the stillness. Marian's body relaxed, her eyes drifting closed like she was finally at peace. John knelt beside her, hands trembling as he draped the coat he'd given her earlier over her still form, his fingers lingering on the fabric as though it could somehow hold her. But she was gone.

Blinking, the memory dissipated, replaced by Andersen's steady voice drawing him back to the present.

"We'll need you and the Counters ready to deploy within a week," Andersen said. "Ingrid's preparing a custom exoskeleton for you—a cast of sorts to help with recovery while ensuring your mobility. You'll need every advantage in this mission."

John's jaw clenched, resolve flaring in his eyes. "Appreciate it, but I don't need a week. The trail's already cooling, and we can't afford to lose any more ground." He straightened, voice firm. "We'll head out in two days. I'll manage without the exoskeleton."

A brief look passed between Andersen and Takumi, a shadow of unease flickering before Andersen gave a nod. "Two days, then. Prepare yourself, Commander. I trust you'll be ready."