Ashen Cole was not given medical care.
He was contained.
Cold metal pressed against his wrists and ankles as consciousness dragged itself back into his body. The first thing he felt was restraint. The second was pain—deep, echoing, threaded through his skull like a foreign pulse.
Lights flickered above him.
White. Sterile. Too clean for a battlefield survivor.
"So he's awake."
The voice was female. Calm. Controlled. Curious.
Ashen opened his eyes.
A woman stood beside the examination table, dressed not in a nurse's uniform, but a fitted black combat coat unzipped just enough to show the curve of her collarbone and the faint edge of a tactical undershirt beneath. Her dark hair was tied back tight, exposing a sharp jawline and eyes that missed nothing.
She studied him the way a mechanic studies a machine.
Not with concern.
With interest.
"Heart rate stabilizing," she said, tapping a tablet. "Brain activity elevated, but coherent."
Ashen tested his restraints. Carbon fiber. Military grade.
"Am I under arrest," he asked hoarsely, "or already dead?"
The corner of her lips lifted slightly. "That depends on how useful you remain."
She stepped closer.
Too close.
He caught the faint scent of metal and something darker beneath it—gun oil, maybe. Or blood.
"I'm Captain Nyx Vale," she said. "Special Operations Medical Intelligence."
Ashen's gaze flicked to her insignia.
Not a medic.
Not command.
Something in between.
"You were the only survivor of Unit Seven," Nyx continued. "Statistically… that shouldn't be possible."
Her fingers brushed his temple—not tender, not rough. Assessing. A shiver ran through him, uninvited.
"There's something in your head," she said quietly. "Something that wasn't authorized to activate."
Ashen smiled faintly. "Sounds like a you-problem."
Her eyes sharpened.
Interesting.
Instead of stepping back, she leaned in, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.
"You don't understand," Nyx murmured. "If Command finds out what you are before I finish my evaluation, you won't make it out of this room."
"What I am," Ashen repeated.
She met his gaze directly now.
"A liability," she said. "Or an asset."
Her hand lingered a second longer than necessary before she straightened and turned away.
The restraints released.
"Dress," Nyx ordered. "You're being transferred."
The interrogation room was darker.
Smaller.
Marcus Hale sat on the other side of the glass.
Clean uniform. Fresh insignia. Promotion stripes that hadn't been there three months ago.
He looked relieved when he saw Ashen.
Too relieved.
"You scared the hell out of us," Marcus said, leaning forward. "We thought you were gone."
Ashen remained standing.
"Forty-seven others were," he replied. "Command send you to apologize?"
Marcus's smile tightened. "Ashen, listen—"
"Why was Unit Seven deployed with outdated gear?" Ashen cut in. "Why were comms dead the moment the shooting started?"
Marcus exhaled slowly. "You don't understand how this works."
Ashen tilted his head. "Then explain it."
Marcus hesitated.
That was all the answer Ashen needed.
The door opened behind him.
Nyx entered, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"Enough," she said. "We're on a schedule."
Marcus glanced at her, then back at Ashen. "Look, I did what I had to do. You would've done the same."
Ashen's jaw tightened. "You put my name forward."
Silence.
"You recommended me for Unit Seven," Ashen continued. "You knew what it was."
Marcus didn't deny it.
"They needed someone expendable," Marcus said quietly. "Someone with no backing. No legacy. You were… convenient."
Ashen laughed once.
Low.
Sharp.
"And Lena?" he asked.
Marcus's eyes flickered away.
That was mistake number two.
Nyx's tablet chimed.
"Testimony file received," she said.
She tapped the screen and turned it toward Ashen.
Lena's face appeared.
Tired. Pale. Determined.
"Ashen Cole showed signs of psychological instability," Lena said in the recording. "He talked about hearing things. About feeling watched. I was afraid he might hurt someone."
Ashen stared at the screen.
Nyx watched him instead.
"I didn't want to do this," Lena's voice continued. "But Marcus said it was the only way to protect everyone."
The recording ended.
The room felt very small.
Ashen's hands curled slowly into fists.
"So that's it," he said softly. "You sold me. She buried me."
Marcus stood. "You're alive, aren't you? This worked out."
Ashen looked up.
His eyes were calm.
Too calm.
Nyx felt it then—that subtle shift in the air, like pressure before a storm.
Inside Ashen's skull, something stirred.
Not angry.
Focused.
[Neural Activity Spike Detected]
[Synchronization Attempt: 4%…]
Nyx's fingers tightened around her tablet.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Ashen met Marcus's gaze and smiled.
Not like a brother.
Like a stranger.
"Don't worry," Ashen said. "I'll make sure it was worth it."
The lights flickered.
And somewhere deep beneath layers of command, lies, and steel—
the weapon realized who had pulled the trigger first.