Three days had passed since Tarrin's little adventure in the prison, and still—no one came knocking. No soldiers dragging him off. No quiet execution in the night. Not even a single warning.
To Tarrin, that left only two possibilities.
One: no one had noticed he'd been there, and those who had kept their mouths shut. That would be ideal—unlikely, but ideal.
Two: the Colonel knew. She knew everything. And she was simply biding her time.
That thought lingered like a blade at his throat, but he kept moving. No choice but to pretend he wasn't constantly glancing over his shoulder.
As for the Josh situation, that had sorted itself—more or less.
Tarrin didn't trust the guy to keep quiet in front of Irene, so he fed him a half-truth.
Said someone from logistics had offered good money to the guy's family for him to take the blame and be executed.
Then he sprinkled in some of his "theories"—terminal illness, massive debt, who knew? The kind of convenient nonsense that led nowhere and solved nothing.
It wasn't a good lie, but it didn't need to be. Just muddy the water enough and let everyone chase shadows.
But now, distraction was over. It was time.
Their first mission.
Ten of them were selected. Tarrin's usual group was there, with the exclusion of Lucas, but a few new faces had joined the lineup.
Noah, Klein, and Olivia—after the hostage exercise, the three had become thick as thieves. Friendly with Tarrin too, for better or worse.
Then there were two others he barely knew. Nick Solace and Sabrina Lione.
Tarrin couldn't guess why command had picked this exact group, or what the mission even was.
But one thing was clear: this wasn't just another drill. This was real.
They sat cramped in one of the smaller conference rooms, ten new recruits with varying degrees of nerves and boredom. The air felt stale, thick with anticipation and recycled air.
Tarrin leaned back slightly in his seat, frowning as he stole another glance at Nick—the new guy. In the last twenty-six seconds, he'd looked at Celith exactly eleven times.
Eleven.
'Does this guy think he's me or something? That he actually has a shot? Not in this life, lil bro.'
Before he could stew further, the door slammed open with enough force to silence the low mutters around the table. All ten of them immediately straightened in their seats, turning toward the sound.
The man who stepped in looked like he belonged on a recruitment poster—late twenties, built like a boulder, with a scar trailing his cheek like a badge of survival. His expression was carved from stone. No-nonsense.
He made no introductions, no greetings, just walked to the head of the table and dropped a thin file in front of him before sitting down.
"Sergeant," they all said in unison, offering a sharp salute.
His eyes swept across them, calculating. Measuring. His expression didn't shift—until he glanced at the file. Just a flicker, but Tarrin caught it. A twitch of the jaw. A subtle hardening in the eyes. Something in there he didn't like.
Then came his voice—low, clipped, and absolute.
"Your first mission starts now. Don't waste a single breath thinking it'll be easy." His gaze narrowed slightly.
"I'm Sergeant Nicolas. I'll be leading this operation. You are to follow every command I give without question. Any disobedience will be met with charges of insubordination."
The air in the room tightened.
Tarrin didn't flinch. But he knew—this wasn't just a test. This was the real thing.
Tarrin caught the sound of Jayden gulping somewhere to his right. He almost smiled.
'This guy's an icon. Always reacting like it's his first day in hell.'
Then the Sergeant's voice cut through the air.
"The mission consists of three parts: Locate, observe, and eliminate. The big questions are what—and where."
He paused. Just for a second. But it was enough. The silence stretched tight, like something weighty was about to drop from his mouth.
"Tonight, we head out for the Ember-Basin."
A few expressions around the room shifted instantly. Eyes darkened. Shoulders tensed. They knew the name, and clearly, they didn't like it.
'Ember-Basin? Oh no. Don't tell me we're being thrown into some godsforsaken pit. Come on, seriously?'
The Sergeant continued, unfazed.
"Inside, a science crew picked up strange vibrations. Higher-ups suspect it's the recently discovered breed—Bleeding Howl. Classified Tier Two on the Elimination Index. We're to find the nest and wipe them out, every last one if possible. And before you start thinking it's suicide, the readings suggest it's a new pack. At most, a few anchored."
Tarrin's heart skipped a beat.
'A few anchored? That's still suicide. We're Scarlings—barely trained, barely alive.'
But then something clicked. The way Sergeant Nicolas had delivered the briefing, like even he didn't believe it. Like he was trying to mask a bad hand dealt from somewhere higher up.
'The Colonel… It has to be her. Or Irene, maybe. But no—Celith's part of this team. Irene wouldn't endanger her out of spite. Which means this setup stinks of the Colonel's design.'
He leaned back slightly, lips pressing into a thin line.
We're being sent out to die. That much felt obvious. But why do it this way? Why not just kill me outright? Or... is she testing me?
Tarrin couldn't tell if it was paranoia whispering in his ear or simple logic. Still, the facts didn't add up. Missions like this were meant for seasoned squads, for soldiers who had faced death a dozen times over. Logistics making a blunder this big? That wasn't bad luck—that was deliberate.
"The journey is around two hundred miles," Sergeant Nicolas continued, voice flat. "Half by truck, the rest on foot. Arrival deadline: two days. That gives you some breathing room. Use it. Rest while you can."
He gave them one last sweep of his cold eyes.
"Courtyard at nightfall. Rations. Spare weapons. And steady your nerves. This isn't a drill. This is the real thing."
With that, he turned and walked out, boots thudding with finality.
Silence followed. Heavy. Thick with unsaid thoughts. Some were nervous. Others quietly bracing themselves. Naturally, it was Riko who broke the silence.
"A nice way to go out, don't you think?" he said, a crooked smile on his face.
No one laughed.
Jayden, ever the team's default optimist, tried to rally some hope. "Come on. We can do this. It's our first mission. And you heard him—newly established pack. Which means we've got a decent chance, right?"
Tarrin let out a short laugh. "You go, Tiger. Way to boost the morale."
Olivia chuckled too, her gaze lingering on Tarrin a beat longer than necessary.
'Am I imagining things?' he wondered, stealing a glance at Celith.
She met his eyes—but her look was cold, distant. Icy, even. Like she'd just watched him commit a crime.
'Why is she like this? Jealous? That's insane. It's not like I'm her man. And it's not my fault I'm her only friend. I've given her every chance to branch out.'
The group dispersed not long after, voices low as they went off to prep for the mission ahead. Weapons, rations, final checks.
Tarrin veered off toward the bathroom, needing a moment to relieve himself—and, maybe, to breathe.
But just as he relaxed, that odd feeling crept up his spine. A presence. Someone nearby.
He turned—and nearly flinched.
Josh was suddenly there beside him, expression unreadable. Tarrin swore the guy glanced down at the worst possible moment.
'Bro. I'm a grower, not a shower. No—wait. What the hell does he want from me?'
Josh leaned in slightly. "Follow me. Irene wants to speak with you. Said it's about... the thing. Urgent. Please comply."
Tarrin sighed, eyes rolling as he zipped up.
'Her again? Can't even take a piss in peace around here.'
After a few tense minutes of following Josh through a maze of dull corridors and flickering lights, Tarrin found himself ushered into what could only be described as a glorified janitor's closet—ten feet by ten, with peeling walls and the scent of old metal and disinfectant clinging to the air.
Irene sat on a crate like it was a throne, her posture deceptively relaxed. But her eyes—those were lit with embers, fury barely cooled.
"I can't believe she'd go that far. That bitch!" she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the stale air. The sudden outburst nearly made Tarrin flinch.
Someone's in a mood, he mused silently, schooling his features into neutrality.
Her gaze snapped to him next, anger rekindled in full force. "Listen to me, Tarrin. This mission? It's a death sentence. And I can't stop it anymore—not at this point."
He nodded slowly, unfazed. "Yeah. I figured."
Irene stared at him, as if trying to bore the truth into his skull with sheer intensity. "Don't you get it? My aunt—she's going to kill you. That wouldn't matter to me if it were just you, but she's dragging the Sahrin princess into this too."
Tarrin raised a brow, his voice dry. "Well, that hurts, you know? But yeah, I get it. Celith's in danger too. Still... in my humble opinion, she's got the best shot out of all of us. I've seen her take a hit from an Anchored and stay standing."
"I don't care about the others," Irene said coldly.
"You need to protect her. Leave the rest behind if you have to—nobody will hold it against you. I know what kind of man you are. Just know this won't be for free. You'll be rewarded. Generously. I promise you."
Now that got Tarrin's attention. His lips curled into a sly smile, pleased she was finally speaking his language.
"Well, when you put it that way... it does sound awfully tempting."
He paused for effect, stroking his chin in mock thoughtfulness. Then, with a single nod, he sealed the deal. "Alright. I'll do what I can to keep her safe. Within reason, of course. Excluding the sacrifice of my own life, if that's acceptable."
He laughed, low and easy.
She extended her hand, a folder in her hand. "This is everything I've managed to dig up related to this mission."
He took it without hesitation. Then without a farewell, he left Irene's throne room,
a burden heavier.