A knock echoed through Violet Schneider's office.
"Come in," she said without looking up.
The door creaked open as Daisy stepped in, followed closely by Alice and Freya.
"You called for us?" Daisy asked, concern clear in her voice.
"Yes," Violet replied simply.
Anya Vess, her quiet assistant, placed a stack of papers on Violet's desk and stepped back. Violet turned one over and slid it toward Daisy.
Daisy picked it up, scanning the content. Her brows furrowed.
"A new mission?"
Violet nodded. "A river block in District 1."
Daisy sensed hesitation in her tone—something more was coming.
"Cloaked men were sighted nearby," Violet continued. "Similar or completely different from the ones Desmond's squad encountered."
She looked up, sharp-eyed. "Can I trust you to avoid engagement? Investigate, assist with the blockage, and return. That's it."
"Yes, ma'am," Daisy answered without hesitation.
Violet's gaze shifted. "You two—" she pointed to Daisy and Alice "—are in charge of Freya."
Freya blinked, confused.
"I wouldn't normally send someone inexperienced, even for a mission this small," Violet admitted. "But Commander Edmund requested it specifically... So it's not my decision."
Freya's brows furrowed as she recalled his earlier words: "Mission to sweep floors?"
Arrogant clown, she thought, rolling her eyes.
"You'll collect your mission gear and weapons from the Research and Development Division," Violet concluded. "You leave at first light."
The three left the room. Freya couldn't tell what she was feeling—excitement? Nerves? She wasn't sure. In all the chaos, she'd completely forgotten about asking Daisy how her wound had healed so fast.
Daisy, still reading the papers about the river location, looked calm and focused. Alice noticed Freya tensing up and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't worry, Freya. I got this."
Daisy rolled her eyes. "The only thing you've got is snacks."
Freya snorted. "I have more faith in myself than you."
"Faith in what—running away?" Alice shot back.
Freya smirked. "At least I can run away."
Daisy suddenly stopped. "Ah, I just remembered—" She handed two copies of the mission packet to them. "You two head to R&E. I need to stop by the medical wing."
Alice nodded. "Alright. We'll see you in the morning."
They split.
The sun was setting as Freya and Alice walked toward the R&E building, the open drill ground nearly empty now. Without cadets shouting or running laps, the area felt much larger—peaceful even. The orange hue of the sky made the walls glow.
Freya glanced around, eyes scanning the open space. "Feels weird without the noise," she muttered.
Alice nodded, leading the way. "You get used to it. This way."
As they reached the entrance of the R&E building, two familiar voices stopped them in their tracks.
"Well, look at that. Girls playing soldiers"
Another laugh followed
Alice's posture shifted. Shoulders dipped. Chin lowered. She didn't need to look—she already knew.
Freya turned her head, spotting Luis and Derek sitting on the stairs to the entrance.
Luis's sunglasses glinted in the dimming light. Derek was with him, his arm in a plaster cast, but he looked just as amused by the situation.
Freya's gaze flickered over to Alice, noting her shrinking form, and then back to Luis. She immediately raised her arms dramatically, letting them dangle in front of her like she was feeling her way around. "Ah, I can't see anything," she said, her voice exaggerated as she waved her hands in the air, mimicking blindness. She even took a few steps forward, her eyes squinted shut, mocking Luis's need for sunglasses.
Freya rolled her eyes and turned toward Derek. "Maybe they should've broken your teeth instead," she shot back, to silence his laughter.
Luis scoffed, his eyes flickering over to Alice. "Maybe you should stay and make sandwiches for everyone," he said, the words dripping with disgust. "But fatso over here would probably eat it all before it even got to the boys."
Alice flinched visibly, and Freya's jaw clenched, but she didn't move to step in. Luis's words had clearly hit a nerve, and Alice just looked down at the ground, not daring to say anything.
Luis wasn't finished. He reached out and grabbed one of Alice's plaits, tugging it roughly to pull her head back. Alice gasped and tried to wriggle away, but his grip only tightened.
Freya's mouth went dry, but her eyes narrowed with defiance. She wasn't going to let Luis get away with this. With a sharp step forward, she grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand off Alice's plait, her voice cutting through the air. "Keep your hands to yourself, Luis."
Luis blinked, caught off guard for only a heartbeat, before his lips curled into a slow, condescending smirk. He looked her over like she was a joke on legs.
"Aw, that's cute," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "The rookie's got a spine. Must be the first time you've ever stood up to a man, huh?"
He stepped in close, leaning down just enough to make it feel like a challenge without lifting a finger. His tone dropped, low and oily. "Let me give you a little advice, rookie. Girls like you? You don't bark. You keep quiet, stay pretty, and stay out of the way—unless you're serving drinks or patching up real soldiers."
His gaze flicked to Alice, who was clutching her hair, then back to Freya, like he'd found a personal comedy show in front of him. "You can come at me all you want, Freya. Hell, I might even let you swing first. But the only way I'm going down is if you throw her at me." He jerked his chin toward Alice. "Though, let's be real—if fatso landed on me, I might not survive."
Freya stood her ground, fists clenched so tight her knuckles ached. "I know exactly where I stand, and it's not under the heel of a pig like you."
Luis didn't even blink. He leaned back with a full-throated laugh, enjoying every second. "Please," he scoffed. "You're standing in fantasy land. And in the real world? You either keep up or get out of the way."
His grin was wide, cruel, and satisfied. "You think words make you strong? You and your walking buffet over there need a serious reality check."
Derek finally spoke, his tone more amused than concerned. "Luis, let's go. You'll make them cry."
Luis grinned, clearly savoring the moment. "Right. Wouldn't want to ruin their day too early." He looked Freya over one last time, cocking his head with a smirk. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But next time you pull something like that… bring a shovel. You'll need it to bury your pride."
As he turned, he waved lazily. "Later, princesses."
Derek offered a mock salute, snorting. "Sweet dreams, ladies." And with that, the two disappeared into the building.
A heavy silence lingered. Freya turned to Alice, her voice gentler. "Are you okay?"
Alice didn't respond. Her arms were still stiff, fists balled, jaw tight. Her eyes stared forward like she hadn't even heard Freya. Rage was written all over her face—silent, burning.
Freya opened her mouth, tempted to say Why don't you stand up for yourself?
But she bit her tongue.
Not now.
They walked in silence through the main door of the R&D facility. Inside, the air buzzed with energy and machinery hums. They were greeted by the smell of soldered metal and the hiss of active tools.
Ace Richards, in his signature yellow technician uniform, stood hunched over a metal console, sparks flying from the drill-like device in his gloved hands. A thick helmet sat snug over his mop of dark hair, and protective goggles covered his eyes as he shaped a glowing metallic piece.
Nearby, Cedric Proctor—clean-cut and calm—sorted through a stack of papers. He looked up as the girls approached.
"Ah," Cedric said, "Looks like you're here for gear. Hand me those."
He took the documents from Freya and Alice, scanning them swiftly. Freya smiled. "Hello, mister."
Alice stayed silent, zoned out. Freya nudged her gently with the back of her hand. Alice blinked, snapping to attention.
"Good evening, Mister Proctor," she said quickly, eyes avoiding his.
Cedric offered a firm but kind smile. He extended a hand to Freya. "We haven't met before, have we?"
Freya shook her head and returned the handshake. "Cadet Freya Sinclair, sir."
"Cedric Proctor. First mission?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hm." He gave her a short nod, then gestured toward Ace. "Wait a few minutes. Ace will assist you with your requirements."
As they waited, three more cadets stepped through the entrance—two unfamiliar faces and one Freya immediately recognized: Olivia, the girl from the other day. They handed over paperwork of their own. They must have a mission too, Freya thought, though not necessarily the same as theirs.
Meanwhile, the sound of machinery died down. Ace set aside his drill-like tool and stepped back from the sparks. He removed his heavy protective goggles and swapped them for a pair of sleek prescription glasses from the breast pocket of his uniform.
He jogged over to Cedric's desk, curiosity already lighting up his features as he plucked the forms from the older man's hand.
"Right," Ace muttered, scanning through the sheets. "You're here for mission outfitting. Follow me."
He led them into a secondary room lined with metal lockers, workbenches, and storage cabinets. A long table stood in the center, flanked by durable chairs.
Ace gestured to one of the chairs. "Freya, have a seat—we'll calibrate you first."
She nodded and sat down as he unlocked a reinforced suitcase on the table, revealing several small, cube-like trackers—currently unlit. Each cube could be linked to up to five people.
Ace picked one of the dormant cubes and set it on the table. From a nearby cabinet, he pulled out two standard-issue tracking bracelets. Returning to Freya, he gently fastened one around her wrist and lifted the cube to match its height.
A single green light began blinking on the cube's surface. After a few seconds, it stopped pulsing and settled into a steady green glow.
"First sync done," Ace confirmed.
He turned to Alice. "Your turn. Sit down for a steady reading."
Alice took Freya's place in the chair. Ace repeated the process—attaching the second bracelet, holding the same cube at level. A second light blinked on, then steadied next to the first.
"Both synced," he said, placing the cube back in its compartment. "Don't remove these until you're back, or they'll deactivate."
Ace turned away briefly, then returned with folded black turtle-neck t-shirts and pairs of dark cargo pants—standard-issue fieldwear. He handed a set to Freya, then to Alice.
To Freya, he added a matte black military vest with reinforced seams and multiple utility slots, along with a drop-leg military bag designed to carry compact mission gear. "First field assignment kit," he muttered.
From a metal case, he began equipping the bag: a compact hand knife, a flare gun, and three slim, test tube-sized vials—each filled with a distinct color liquid. "Single-use only," he explained. "Green is anesthetic gas—short range, enough to knock out one person. Grey is low-grade poison—causes intense coughing, nothing fatal. Blue's for irritation—mostly eye burn and vision disruption."
He tucked each into fitted loops in the drop-leg bag.
He then revealed an army-issued Glock, checking the safety before placing it into the holster stitched onto the bag's side. A single spare magazine followed, locked into a front pouch.
"Try not to use the Glock," he said, his voice more serious now. "You're not trained with it, and you don't fight like the others. This is just in case you have no other option."
Freya looked at the weapon as if it might bite. It was the first time in her life she'd held a real gun—something about it felt heavy, even while holstered.
Ace added more quietly, "I've been working on a stun-gun design, but it's not field-ready yet."
He stepped back and gave her a final once-over. "Once the mission ends, report back here first. Everything gets logged and checked."
He handed Alice a near-identical set of gear, custom-sized, and watched as she fitted the vest and secured her bag. The quiet tension between the girls lingered, heavier than the gear on their backs.
At the far end of the facility, Daisy stepped into the medical ward—the quietest wing, where long-term patients were kept, mostly out of sight and out of mind. The corridor was dimly lit and nearly empty, the silence almost reverent, broken only by the faint hiss of oxygen and the low, steady beeping of monitors. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and something older, more tired—like time itself had settled in.
She walked slowly, her feet heavy. Each step toward the familiar door felt harder than the last.
Stopping in front of it, she reached out and gripped the steel handle. It was cold against her palm. She paused there for a moment, staring at it, her reflection faintly warped in the brushed metal. Her face—exhausted, anxious, and too young to look so old. With a quiet breath, she blinked back her emotions, pulling on the same bright, bubbly mask she wore for the world. The one that said she was okay. That everything was fine.
She pressed the handle down and stepped inside.
"Hi, Papa," she whispered.
The room was dim but clean, the corners shadowed. Machines lined the walls, gently clicking, humming, blinking. Her father lay in the center of it all, sunken into the bed, looking smaller than he used to. The oxygen mask covered most of his face, but she could still see the shape of his cheekbones, the faint grey in his hair, the lines time had carved into his skin.
The only sound was the loud, rhythmic breathing through the mask—a mechanical reminder that he was still here. Barely.
Daisy's smile wavered. She stepped closer, her voice shaking as she spoke again, more to fill the air than to be heard.
"I want to tell you so much about what's been happening... I went on this mission, and I almost passed out—but it was okay. I made new friends. There's Freya—she's serious all the time—and Alice, she keeps eating, I tell her it's not good for her health but they just laugh at me…"
A small, watery laugh escaped her lips, but it fell into silence too quickly. She looked at him, waiting—hoping for a flicker, a twitch, anything.
Nothing.
Just the sound of his strained, mechanical breaths.
"Reyna actually appreciated me, Papa. For the first time," she said, her voice cracking with pride and grief all tangled together. "And James… that idiot did something stupid again."
She kept talking—fast now, nervously, like if she stopped, the silence would crush her.
"The restaurant's doing okay. I passed my anatomy exam. And no… I still haven't found anyone to marry…"
Her lips trembled.
That was when she broke.
A sob caught in her throat and slipped out before she could stop it. She slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the rest as her eyes spilled over. She turned away from the bed, ashamed, terrified that if she cried too loud, he might slip away without her noticing.
Because even now, he was still her world.
She had tried everything. Every technique, every herbal infusion, every energy transfer. And at first, it would work—his vitals would improve, color would return to his skin, hope would flicker in her chest. But by the next day, it was always the same.
His body wasn't rejecting healing.
He was suffering from aether resistance syndrome .
The very source of her gift was poisoning him from the inside. Its radioactivity was like a slow reset—undoing her efforts, erasing progress, masking his condition beneath symptoms that mimicked incurable diseases. Every time she healed him, it was like pushing a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down again. She wasn't curing him—just stalling the inevitable.
Sometimes she wondered if it would've been kinder to let go.
But how could she? He was all she had.
Her entire family—gone. Victims of the same genetic curse. And back then, she had been too young, too powerless to stop it. Now she had power, knowledge, and purpose—and still, it wasn't enough.
She wiped her tears on her sleeve and forced a smile again, leaning close to brush his hair gently back from his forehead.
"I'm not crying, Papa. I swear, I'm not crying. I'm a strong girl."
She kissed him gently.
"I'm going on another mission," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I'll see you when I get back. I'll have enough sovs to move you to a better ward. I promise."
She lingered a second longer, then stepped away and closed the door quietly behind her.
Outside, the facility doors to the Research & Engineering wing slid open with a soft hiss.
Freya and Alice were just about to leave when Daisy emerged. The moment they saw her, she straightened her back and smiled—just enough. The sight of them, standing together, warm and real, gave her something to hold onto. Something like home.
"Where were you?" Alice asked, tilting her head.
"Nowhere," Daisy replied quickly.
The girls exchanged a look. Daisy's usual radiant energy wasn't there. Her eyes looked a little too pink. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
She walked over to get her bracelet calibrated, quiet, hands folded. Without a word, she collected her mission kit from the bench and slipped it over her shoulder.
Even though their mission was early the next morning, Alice nudged Freya and suggested, "Let's eat out tonight. Something good. Feels like we could all use it."
Daisy didn't say a word. But she nodded—softly, gratefully—and followed them.
Elsewhere, in the buzzing market square of a Stovian border town, the air was thick with the aroma of spices, roasted meats, and warm bread. Stalls lined the cobbled street, packed with chatter, bartering, and the occasional shout of a seller advertising fresh goods.
A man in a long black coat stood by one of the food stalls, a wide-brimmed hat shading most of his face. He held a small wooden bowl, sampling a steaming plate of kharven stew—a local delicacy made of slow-cooked root vegetables, shredded lamb, and fermented mushroom paste, known for its deep umami and throat-warming spice.
As he took another bite, another man in similarly discreet attire stepped beside him and ordered the same dish.
"That'll be 3 sovs," the stall keeper said.
The second man handed over a few coins, exchanging a brief nod with the first. Then, with casual efficiency, he passed a paper-wrapped parcel to him.
"The kiwis—for you and your family."
"Thank you. See you again," the first man replied.
The second man simply nodded and turned back into the crowd, vanishing among the flow of people.
A black crow, perched silently on a distant branch, tilted its head—watching. Then it took flight, wings slicing the air as it followed the man who had handed over the parcel, not the one carrying it now.
The man who had received the bag continued walking, slipping deeper into the quieter alleys. The market noise faded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, a prickling sense crawling down his spine. Just to be safe, he took a longer route, doubling back before approaching a seemingly abandoned building.
A lone horse cart stood out front, tied and waiting. He carefully loaded the bag into the back and moved to climb aboard—only to freeze.
A masked man was already seated, waiting in silence.
Before he could react, a brutal kick landed square in his chest. He flew backward, crashing to the ground. Darkness claimed him.
"You're coming with me," the masked figure said coldly, dragging the unconscious man into the shadows.
Outside, the town began to settle—the clatter of market stalls dying down, laughter fading behind closed doors. For most, the night was drawing to a close.
But for him, it had only just begun.
And it wouldn't end quietly.