News travels fast on the winds of war.
By the time Colonel Pierce's boots hit the dirt to personally lead the rescue team, the air was already heavy with mourning. But this time, it wasn't rumor or whispers that carried the weight. It was his voice.
He gathered them all—soldiers, medics, researchers. Every person who'd fought beside, trained, or even just passed by Angelo Walker and his team. They stood in a tight, tense ring near the outpost gates, silent under the early morning sun. No one spoke. Not until Pierce did.
His voice was rough, heavy with grief.
"Private Ryan Maddox is dead. So is Lieutenant Marcelle Hale."
A sharp breath ran through the crowd like a tremor. Some bowed their heads. Others went still, faces stricken. Olivia clutched her arms tightly around herself, jaw clenched. Dr. Grant didn't move at all.
"Angelo Walker has been captured. We believe he's alive. And we are going to get him back," Pierce continued, voice cutting through the silence like steel.
He paused then, eyes scanning the faces around him.
"Lieutenant Hale died in the field doing what she always did—protecting her people. You knew her. You fought beside her. Some of you owed her your lives."
Then, softer—almost ashamed:
"Private Maddox… some of you might not have known him well. He was quiet. Kept to himself. But last night, that kid dragged his body across broken ground, bleeding out, just to call in one last report. He gave us the tracker ID that might be the only way we find Angelo."
Pierce's voice cracked, but he didn't look away.
"He died scared. He died alone. But he didn't die for nothing."
A long silence followed. And when the Colonel finally stepped back, he left no room for doubt.
"We mourn today. But tomorrow—tomorrow we move. For Hale. For Maddox. For Angelo."
Only after that did the wildfire begin. But now it burned with purpose. Grief had a name. Two of them.
For Dr. Elias Grant, it hollowed him out.
He didn't cry. Didn't scream. He simply sat in the back of a supply truck, staring at nothing, shoulders slumped and hands clenched into fists on his knees. The man who once filled whiteboards with theories and peppered his colleagues with rapid-fire questions now looked as if the world had gone quiet inside his head.
That was how Olivia Walker found him—silent, motionless, his eyes distant and drained of their usual spark.
She approached carefully, her heart heavy with fear and guilt. "Dr. Grant… I heard about what happened. I wanted to check on you."
He looked up, startled from his trance. His voice was dry, quiet. "Oh… Mrs. Walker. Thank you. I'm… holding together, I guess."
He looked down, guilt creeping into his voice. "We're sorry we couldn't protect Angelo. For the mistakes of my colleagues… please forgive them."
"No," Olivia said immediately, shaken by how empty his voice sounded. "They did their best. It's not their fault."
"Thank you," Grant whispered. "We'll get him back."
There was a pause. Then Olivia sat beside him on a nearby crate, folding her hands in her lap.
"I heard Lieutenant Marcelle Hale was your friend," she said softly. "A good one."
Grant exhaled through his nose, voice barely above a whisper. "She was my only friend… before your son."
Olivia glanced at him gently. "Can you tell me more about her? I heard the three of you were always together. You and Lieutenant Hale… you helped Angelo so much, when we—his family—looked away."
Grant was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
"Yeah… sure. It's a long one."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and began.
"I met Lieutenant Hale during one of my first deployments. It wasn't anything dramatic. I was eating alone—like always—poking at cold rations in the corner of the mess tent. I'd made a habit of avoiding people. Back then, I didn't talk to anyone if I could help it. Just worked. Studied. Buried myself in the clean logic of data and silence.
"She walked right up and sat across from me. Told me I looked like I was trying to decode my food. That was the first thing she ever said to me."
A tiny smile flickered on his face.
"I didn't know what to say. Mumbled something about protein ratios. Figured that'd scare her off. It didn't. She just nodded and kept talking. Asked what I did, why I looked like I hadn't slept in a week… which was fair."
He paused, his voice softening.
"She didn't push too hard, didn't overshare. But you could see it. The quiet strength. The pain. She was guarded, but never cruel. Turns out, she was an orphan. Grew up bouncing between systems. Joined the military because she wanted to help people—because no one helped her."
His gaze dropped to the ground.
"We didn't become friends right away. Just… kept showing up. Missions, patrols, post-briefing coffee. Slowly, those moments added up. She made me feel seen, and I think—somehow—I made her feel understood."
He looked at Olivia then, his voice barely above the wind.
"I didn't call her Marcelle until much later. But once I did… I never stopped."
He drew a long breath, then continued.
"When the military brought Angelo to the base, Marcelle and I were there. I remember the moment they tried to insert an IV and the needle snapped. At the time, we didn't know what to make of it. But later, we heard the rumors—about the ice incident, how his body had changed, how he created frost from nothing."
He let out a short, disbelieving breath.
"I didn't buy it at first. Thought it was exaggerated."
Grant's expression darkened slightly.
"Then Marcelle went on that mission—the one with the Watcher. She came back alone. Changed. I think that was when she knew Angelo wasn't just a subject. He was something else. When the Colonel put her in charge of his training, she pulled me in too. Said the kid needed more than just a drill sergeant. He needed knowledge."
He smiled again, just faintly.
"The first time I walked into his room, I saw him materialize a knife from thin air. Just—bam. There it was. I asked him how he did it. You know what he said?"
Grant's voice grew warm.
"He said he'd just finished reading five thick books in under an hour and wanted to try recreating a knife he'd seen earlier—just lying on a desk."
He laughed gently, shaking his head. "That was the moment I knew. We'd get along just fine. Though, I guess you could say I was the teacher, and he was the student."
He looked away again, his voice barely audible now.
"Every day with those two was something new. Marcelle pushing him past his limits. Me throwing impossible theories at him, watching him tear through them. It wasn't easy, but… those days? They mattered."
As the wind stirred dust around the convoy, Olivia reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm.
"It's going to be alright." she said. "I know that the military will bring him back."
Grant didn't speak. But after a moment, he gave the faintest nod.
The ghosts of the past lingered, but the fire hadn't died. Not yet.