Damian tipped his mug back, cheap ale burning down his throat. He slammed it on the table, chest heaving.
The tavern's warmth struck him like a wave. Laughter. Sweat. The smell of beer. After years of silence, the noise almost broke him.
Overcome, he grabbed his brothers close, holding on as if he could fuse this moment into his bones.
Marcus watched, quiet and steady, his usual smile softening as he saw Damian's red eyes. The squad's "father" thought the poor kid had just been hit too hard by love.
But then Damian straightened. The softness vanished.
His face turned sharp, a hard edge that didn't belong to a broken lover.
He leaned forward, voice low.
"Captain, what mission did you take this time?"
In his last life, he had never asked. He had never known why Iron Fang had gone out that day. Only that they never came back.
Marcus opened his mouth, but Caleb Ross jumped in first, words quick and careless.
"Relax, it's nothing dangerous! If it were, we wouldn't be the ones doing it."
Marcus frowned. Damian shouldn't have even known to ask. But he explained anyway.
"This commission comes from one of the Core Families. You were confessing to Elian that day. If things worked out, we figured you'd be too busy with your new partner. That's why we kept quiet."
Caleb smirked. "We knew you'd run off with Elian, so we didn't bother calling you along."
Damian forced a smile, but a cold weight settled in his stomach.
Across the table, Noah Briggs had been quietly cleaning his glasses. As Damian asked about the mission, his hands stilled. He didn't look up, but his attention was now fixed on the conversation.
Noah's calm voice cut through the noise as he finally spoke.
"They're paying two hundred thousand credits. The job's simple—clear the outer zombies and locate the site. No need to crack defenses. They picked us because we're not the strongest, but we're the most complete. Traps, locks, scouting—we're best at exploration."
Damian's fingers curled under the table.
Ethan leaned forward, grin reckless, eyes bright with fire.
"Two hundred thousand! We clear it fast, we drink for months."
The numbers clicked into place in Damian's mind, cold and hard. A price that high for a job that simple? It wasn't a reward—it was a bribe for silence, or the cost of their lives. The Core Families didn't pay for labor; they paid for problems to disappear.
Damian's jaw locked tight, eyes cold as steel.
A Core Family paying that much for a Class-2 Zone?
This wasn't a simple mission. It was a death sentence.