The next day was a masterclass in procrastination.
Elias rolled in at noon, dragging his feet. He spent two hours mechanically sorting a pile of paperwork into three stacks: "Trash," "Burn," and "Probably important, check later (never)." He discovered a forgotten sandwich in a drawer, examined it with scientific reverence for the multicolored mold colonies thriving on it, then tossed it.
In the afternoon, he devoted himself to an in-depth study of his office ceiling, searching for structural cracks (he found two, interesting ones). He played three games of solitaire on his computer, lost all three, and loudly accused the game's AI of cheating.
One thing, however, was missing from the picture.
The lecture.
Mara's usual 2 PM invasion, to remind him of his "crushing responsibilities," the disastrous state of the quarterly reports, or how ignoring a Commander's email for three weeks was "counterproductive."
Nothing.
By 4 PM, he started finding it suspicious. By 5 PM, it was downright worrying.
At six, as the sun began dipping behind the gray buildings of Division 7, Elias stood, stretched, and frowned.
He checked his phone. Zero messages. Zero calls.
"She quit."
The idea made him smile—a crooked little smile.
The fourth one. Hargrave was going to be thrilled. He pictured the scene: Mara, impeccable, handing in her resignation on the Commander's desk with a polished speech about structural methodological incompatibility. Hargrave sighing as he signed, adding another tick to his list of "Vice-Captains sacrificed on the altar of Mercer."
"Shame," he muttered to himself, swinging his boots up onto the desk. "She had guts. A bit too much, but guts."
He decided to get coffee. To mark the occasion.
The hallway to the break room was unnaturally clean. The usual stale, burnt-coffee smell had given way to an aggressive lemon scent. The linoleum, normally dulled by years of mud and neglect, gleamed.
Elias frowned.
The break room was empty. The fluorescents buzzed faintly over the plastic tables.
Briggs was there. Alone. Eating a sandwich, scrolling on a tablet.
"Hey, Cap'," he said without looking up.
"Briggs." Elias dropped into the chair across from him. "Coffee?"
"Machine in the back. Go for the black. The other one tastes like piss."
"Charming." Elias got up, fed in some coins, and grabbed a steaming cup. He sat back down. "Question."
"Shoot."
"You seen O'Connell today?"
Briggs looked up. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Why? Miss her?"
Elias stared. "Briggs. I'm gonna hit you."
"Relax, Cap'." Briggs set down his tablet. "Yeah, I saw her. All day, actually."
"All day?"
"Yeah. While you were in... what'd she call it? Oh yeah. Strategic withdrawal."
Elias frowned. "Go on."
"She went to every member of the company. One by one." Briggs took a bite of his sandwich. "Gave them instructions on the admin stuff. Fill out forms properly. Log hours. Report equipment damage. All that boring crap you never make us do."
"And?"
"And she did it without yelling. Without threatening. She just... explained. Calmly." Briggs shrugged. "Some grumbled. Jax tried to be smart. She shut him down in three sentences. Camille refused to talk to her. She moved on to Torin."
"Torin talked to her?"
"After she brought him coffee and apologized for yesterday. Like, real apologies." Briggs set down his sandwich. "Caught him off guard. He listened."
Elias sipped his coffee. It did taste like piss. "Then what?"
"She called a cleaning service."
"Excuse me?"
"A cleaning service." Briggs grinned. "Apparently we'd had budget for it. Like, forever. But our head accountant—you know, the balding guy with cigarette breath—was skimming it. Inflated salaries. Fake invoices. The whole deal."
Elias blinked. "How did she..."
"She went through the books. All night, according to Saito. He saw her at four AM, locked in the finance office with three screens and a thermos of coffee." Briggs leaned in. "Cap'. She fired eight people today."
"Eight?"
"The head accountant. Two assistants. Three logistics guys. And two others nobody really knew what they did." Briggs crossed his arms. "She restructured the whole finance department in six hours. Hargrave approved."
Elias went quiet.
"She also brought in a crew to clean the HQ. Floors, windows, bathrooms. Everything." Briggs chuckled. "Torin almost cried when he saw the latrines. Said it was the first time they didn't smell like death."
"She did all that... in one day."
"Yeah." Briggs picked up his sandwich again. "During your strategic withdrawal."
Elias stood abruptly, nearly spilling his coffee.
"Cap'?"
He left the break room without a word, leaving Briggs to his meal.
He headed straight for the Vice-Captain's office. The door was ajar.
He pushed it open.
The office light was dim, only a desk lamp on, casting a warm cone over the organized chaos. Neatly labeled folders stacked on the sides. Mobile whiteboards covered in diagrams, arrows, numbers.
In the center, behind the desk, Mara was slumped.
Head resting on an open binder, she was asleep. Her red hair, usually so strictly tied back, spilled in a messy halo over the papers. A strand fell across her face, moving with her slow, deep breaths. Her glasses lay beside her, catching the light. She still wore her crisp suit, but the jacket was draped over the chair back. Under the harsh lamp, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of exhaustion on her skin.
On the binder, near her cheek, hasty notes were scrawled: /Budget reallocated – equipment section. Talk to Hargrave about Torin's bonus. DO NOT FORGET: Order new fire extinguishers./
'She even made a list for herself.'
Elias stood in the doorway, still.
Then he stepped in quietly. The floor didn't creak.
He approached the desk. She didn't stir. A soft snore—almost a sigh—escaped her.
He took in the scene for a moment. Then, slowly, he took down his vice-captain jacket.
He unfolded it and gently draped it over Mara's shoulders.
She shifted slightly in her sleep, burrowing her nose into the collar, but didn't wake.
A smile tugged at Elias's lips.
"I underestimated you, apparently."
He stepped back, turned off the desk lamp, leaving only the blue glow of the screensaver to light the room. Then he slipped out, closing the door without a sound.
In the clean, quiet hallway, he headed to his own office.