Alex wiped sweat from his brow, the training field's dust still clinging to his skin like a bad memory. The bruises from Ironclad's swing throbbed with every step, a dull reminder that wins came with teeth. Lila walked beside him, close enough that her arm brushed his now and then, sending little jolts through him—half thrill, half terror. She'd called him reckless, but the way she'd said it, soft around the edges, stuck with him. Like she saw the mess inside and didn't run.
The squad shuffled toward the briefing room, feet dragging on the polished floors. Jax rubbed his neck, grinning through the ache. "Man, that cyborg hit like a truck full of regrets. But hey, we bagged the logs. High five for not dying?"
Mia slapped his palm, her bandage peeking from under her sleeve. "Speak for yourself. My shoulder's screaming. Next time, you take the drone hits." She shot Alex a quick look, gratitude flickering in her eyes. He'd jumped in without thinking, and yeah, it felt good. Clean, for once.
The door to the briefing room slid open with a hiss, spilling out the low hum of holo-screens and that stale coffee smell Grimshaw favored. But instead of the usual empty chairs and flickering maps, they walked into a standoff. Caleb Voss lounged at the head of the table, his buzzcut gleaming under the lights, a smug twist to his mouth like he'd just won something he didn't deserve. His Delta Dorks flanked him—Tessa fiddling with a gadget that sparked ominously, Rico half-hidden in the shadows like he was allergic to light, and Finn cracking his knuckles with a grin too wide for the room.
"What the hell?" Jax muttered, shoulders squaring up. "This our spot, buzzcut."
Caleb leaned back, arms crossed. "Board reassigned the briefing. Ironclad intel's hot—too hot for rookies like you. Delta's taking point on the follow-up."
Alex's stomach dropped. The logs from the shipyard—Mia had barely cracked them, but already? His implant hummed, a faint itch behind his eyes, like it knew trouble was brewing. Lila tensed beside him, her hand drifting toward her hip where her sidearm hung. "Reassigned? By who? Grimshaw?"
Tessa snorted, her curls bouncing as she waved her sparking tool. "By the board, sniper girl. We're the real deal. You lot can mop up the scraps."
Mia's eyes narrowed, fingers twitching like she itched to unleash her own tech. "Real deal? Says the girl whose last 'invention' turned a drill into a fireworks show."
The room crackled, tension thick as fog. Jax stepped forward, looming over Finn, who didn't back down but puffed up like a pissed-off pigeon. Rico shifted in the corner, whispering something that made Caleb smirk wider. Alex felt the pull—the old urge to shrink, to let the pros handle it. But that was before. Now, with the squad at his back and secrets clawing at his throat, he straightened.
"Logs are ours," Alex said, voice steady even if his pulse wasn't. "We earned them. You want a piece? Earn it."
Caleb's laugh was sharp, all edges. "Earn it? Like you 'earned' that cyborg takedown? Word is, Thorne's got a guardian angel lately. Or maybe just dumb luck." His eyes bored into Alex, that Voss family glint making it personal. Cousin to the big bad—yeah, Caleb wore it like a crown and a curse.
Before Alex could bite back, the door hissed again. Grimshaw stormed in, face like thunder, a tablet clutched in his meaty fist. "What is this circus? Delta, out. Shadow's got the lead."
Tessa's gadget chose that moment to pop—a shower of harmless sparks that lit the room like faulty stars. Finn yelped, batting at his jacket. "Tessa! Warn a guy!"
Rico melted further into the shadows, but not before tripping over a chair leg, sprawling with a muffled curse. Caleb shot to his feet, red-faced. "This is bullshit, Grimshaw! We're primed for—"
"Out," Grimshaw barked, pointing like he was herding cats. The Dorks grumbled, filing past with glares that promised payback. Tessa bumped Mia's shoulder "accidentally," whispering, "Watch your drone, pinky. Wouldn't want it... glitching."
Mia flipped her off, subtle but savage. As the door sealed behind them, Jax let out a bark of laughter. "Discount spies, more like. Did you see Rico eat that chair? Priceless."
Lila shook her head, but a smile tugged at her lips. "They're desperate. Means we're onto something big."
Grimshaw activated the holo-map, shipment routes blooming in blue light. "Ironclad's logs point to a warehouse drop—Vortex's next tech haul. Midnight. Delta's sidelined, but don't think they'll stay put." His eyes landed on Alex, heavy. "And Thorne? No more lone wolf crap. Team plays, or you sit."
Alex nodded, the weight settling deeper. The squad huddled around the map, voices overlapping—Jax plotting smash routes, Mia eyeing hack points, Lila marking sightlines. It felt solid, like family stitching a tear. But as they broke, his implant flickered to life, that damn blue text curling in his vision:
SYSTEM PROMPT: Mission Unlocked! Objective: Slip a decoy log to the Dorks before midnight. Reward: Unlock 'Misdirection Mastery.' Failure: 'Clown Makeup Tutorials.' Tip: Use the rival heat to your advantage.
He bit back a groan. Clown makeup? The system's jabs were landing too close to home. Lila caught his flinch, her brow furrowing. "You good?"
"Yeah," he lied, forcing a grin. "Just thinking how Caleb's face would look in greasepaint."
She laughed, light and real, and for a second, the knot in his chest loosened. But as they headed out, the warehouse looming in his mind, Alex couldn't shake the feeling—the Dorks weren't done, and neither was the game pulling his strings. Midnight would bring more than tech. It'd bring choices, the kind that could snap everything he was fighting for.