I slowed just before the squad room door. There was a familiar scent close by.

  Too close.

  It had a faint sharpness to it—anticipation mixed with poorly contained excitement. Adrenaline had a very distinct smell. Not usually cause for alarm, but I was well aware who it belonged to.

  I almost laughed.

  Jen and I had developed a little game over the years since we first met at the academy. She would set an ambush and try to get the jump on me, the goal being to pin me down. Corners. Hallways. Training rooms. Once, memorably, from inside a locker she definitely hadn't fit inside. It had never worked. Not even once.

  That had never stopped her.

  She had always been like that—brilliant instincts, frightening talent, and an absolute refusal to learn from repeated failure. The concept of surrender was foreign to her.

  I opened the door and stepped forward like I hadn't noticed a thing.

  She came at me the instant the gap was wide enough—fast, aggressive and without hesitation. Her timing was good. Her angle was better. For most people, it would've been enough.

  I caught her wrist, pivoted into her momentum, and felt familiar satisfaction as physics did the rest.

  She hit the floor hard, breath tearing out of her lungs. Before she could roll or recover, I dropped my weight, pinning her arms and settling myself squarely on top of her head.

  She froze.

  Then started thrashing.

  "Tap out," I said calmly.

  The squad room erupted, the air filling with laughter.

  "Again?" Lydia's voice cut through it, amused and entirely unsurprised. "Jen, seriously? That's—what—a hundred and five now?"

  "One hundred and five," Mous said brightly, already holding out her hand.

  Bran groaned and handed over credits reluctantly.

  I stared at him. "Seriously?"

  "You bet against me?" I asked incredulously. "I mean you of all people should know better."

  He leaned back in his chair, massive frame relaxed, black eyes calm as ever. His obsidian skin caught the overhead lights as his gaze flicked to my split lip, then lower to where my ribs were probably starting to bruise properly.

  "I don't know," he shrugged. "You were late and came in looking like you lost an argument with a train."

  "Regardless…"

  "Eh, doesn't matter," he sighed. "However I am curious as to who or what handed such a phenomenal ass whooping to our fearless leader."

  I shifted slightly. I definitely couldn't tell them the real reason for the arrest—not without raising a few eyebrows. It was clean. Legal. That was all that mattered.

  "Nothing much really, just a messy drunk. He happened to put up a better fight than I expected."

  Bran stared at me knowingly as the others nodded dismissively. Being my oldest friend he could always tell when I wasn't being completely honest. Not that he ever pried and I always appreciated that.

  Jen bucked beneath me, trying—and failing—to shift my weight.

  "He's slipping," she grunted. "I can feel it."

  I adjusted my balance. She squeaked.

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  "Tap out."

  "Don't you dare get comfortable."

  "Oh, I could get very comfortable," I said mildly. "I've got time."

  Cuiran, seated with his feet on the table, didn't look up from his slate. Pale brows rose slightly.

  "I just finished reading your incident report," he said. "It says here that your drunk was a hundred and twenty two year old civilian."

  That did it.

  Mous laughed so hard she had to brace herself against the table. "There's no way!"

  "You're telling me you got dropped by grandpa?!" Lydia screamed with tears in her eyes.

  Jen snorted. "See? Slipping."

  I leaned forward just enough to tap her forehead with two fingers.

  "Tap. Out."

  She hesitated—long enough to make a point—then slapped the floor.

  I stood and hauled her up without effort. She shot me a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. There never was.

  The laughter slowly subsided as we joined them at the table. I looked around the room. Two small hallways on opposite sides leading to what I assumed were the kitchen, showers and other squad facilities. Along one wall, a shelf held personal effects—helmets, datapads, half-disassembled gear. This was our office and second home for the foreseeable future.

  It didn't look bad, If I do say so myself.

  "What'd I miss?" I asked, rolling my shoulders.

  "Nothing we didn't already learn at the Academy," Lydia said. "Speaking of which, why did Officer Bailey hold you back? Punishment?"

  "Nah, just some words of advice."

  Mous crossed the room and dropped into Cuiran's lap like she belonged there. He sighed, but his hand settled automatically at Mous's waist.

  We groaned.

  "Come on," Bran said. "At least act like professionals."

  I snorted. "You two are impossible."

  "Please," Mous shot back, smirking, "You're all just jealous."

  It was surprising that their relationship had lasted as long as it did and even more surprising it had started in the first place. Cuiran was the most reserved person in our group. Most of us knew nothing of his life outside the squad. Mous on the other hand was pretty much an open book. Wasn't much for secrets either and unfortunately some of us found out the hard way. Poor Bran.

  Scanning the room again, I frowned.

  "Where's Kate?"

  "Gear room," Lydia said, pointing. "Saw her leave earlier."

  Bran hesitated. "She's been… off. Don't think she's quite over what happened."

  Jen folded her arms. "Maybe breaking up with her at graduation wasn't your best idea."

  I sighed deeply.

  I really didn't want to deal with this right now.

  Understanding my lack of options, I got up and turned toward the gear room before anyone could say more.

  She stood near the spare equipment racks, examining a KL rifle with practiced focus.

  "Hey," I said.

  No response.

  I stepped forward. "What's good with you?"

  She didn't look up. "You wouldn't be smart approaching me while I'm handling a loaded weapon."

  I stopped a few steps back. "Now what did I do to deserve such hostility?"

  She finally turned, face twisted with fury, brown eyes blazing beneath a tangle of coarse dark hair.

  "Really?" she snapped. "You're going to play dumb right now?"

  "Kate—"

  "Back off, before I make you."

  "Kate please—"

  She cut me off. "Eight years! We were together for eight years Stretch! What did you expect? Did you think I would just forget all of it? That I could just act like none of it happened?"

  Her grip tightened on the rifle.

  "It was so easy for you to throw all of that away. Did any of it even matter to you? Did you even care?"

  I met her gaze, steady. I had never found it this difficult.

  "Of course I did," I said, stepping closer. "I really do care about you."

  "That's some bs," she scoffed, backing away.

  I hadn't told her the reason for ending our relationship the way I did. It wasn't complicated.

  I'd been drifting away long before graduation, slowly falling out of love with her. She had changed. I couldn't find the person I'd fell in love with four years ago and I didn't know how to tell her. I only stayed longer because it was easier. Because breaking things off earlier might've affected our squad performance in the final evaluations.

  Because I didn't want to deal with it.

  Now seeing her like this I could feel a twinge of guilt. I hadn't ever meant to make her feel this way.

  "I loved you deeply," I continued carefully. "You know that."

  She turned away, stifling tears.

  "Somewhere along the way, my feelings began to fade. It had nothing to do with you — it just happened. I knew that the longer I tried to hold on, the more it would hurt when it inevitably ended, and I couldn't do that to you."

  Exhaling, she turned to face me.

  "You should be with someone who can give you all the love you deserve— who would trade the world to see you smile. I'm sorry I couldn't be that person."

  She searched my face. Slowly, the tension eased.

  "Just because we're not together," I added, "doesn't mean we can't still be friends. You're one of the few people I actually enjoy being around and I really mean that."

  Silence stretched.

  Finally, she set the rifle down.

  "I still think you're full of shit," she said, wiping her face. "But I guess I don't exactly hate your company either."

  My shoulders slacked with relief. The worst was over.

  "Just so you know I haven't completely forgiven you."

  I offered my hand. "I'll be waiting."

  She hesitated—then shook it.

  Back in the central space, I clapped once.

  "Alright. Enough screwing around. Suit up."

  The squad moved immediately.

  I let myself watch them a moment longer than necessary before heading to my locker.

  They were loud. Chaotic. Rarely serious.

  But they were mine.

  I had a duty to this unit.

  And It was one I would not fail.

  KL: Kinetic Lance

  Fight ability is ranked through a metric called Combat rating aka CR. It consist of 11 tiers.

  A person at the 11th tier would be considered as a force of death and destruction. The perfect fighter. There have been no confirmed or documented fighters at this level.