Chapter 3

After leaving the team’s outpost, I didn’t go back to the barracks, and I didn’t look for anyone to explain myself to.

I walked to the end of the corridor, avoided the crowded public areas, stopped in a dimmer corner, and pulled out my comm unit.

An encrypted Operations Division channel popped onto the screen. I pressed the call button and waited for the connection.

“Leo.” A man’s voice came through—low, clipped, no wasted greetings.

I said, “Harris. It’s me.”

He didn’t ask why I was calling. Didn’t ask whether something had happened. He cut straight in. “You made up your mind?”

I stared at the straight strip of ceiling lights at the end of the hall and answered evenly, “I have. The offer you mentioned before—I accept.”

Harris paused for half a second, like he was making sure this wasn’t impulse, then said, “Good. Three days from now. 0800. Operations Division. Be on time. Bring what you need. Don’t worry about the rest.”

“Understood.” I ended the call and slid the unit back into my pocket.

For the next three days, I didn’t show up in the seven-person team’s line of sight. I didn’t even go sit in the infirmary with Ben.

Not because I didn’t care—but because if I appeared now, everyone’s attention would stay locked on the argument about “who’s right and who’s wrong.”

I packed up the personal items that needed to be handed over, cleared them out of my quarters, returned my key at the registry, and canceled my access the way the procedure required. Clean and efficient—like closing out a mission with its conclusion already written.

On the morning of the third day, I arrived at the Operations Division right on time.

The guards at the entry checkpoint saw me and didn’t ask questions. They verified my ID and let me through.

Inside Operations was quieter than the residential blocks. In the corridor, you could hear the echo of boots on the floor. Mission boards and casualty tallies hung on the walls, the numbers as calm and cold as rules.

Harris was already waiting in his office.

He looked thinner than I remembered. His hair was cut close. On his desk: a single document and a stamp. He gestured for me to sit and got to it.

“A special field unit is being formed.” He slid the file toward me. “Codename: Night Owl. Team leader: Leo Grayson. Orders effective immediately.”

I opened the file. The content was brief. The signature block already carried the Operations seal.

I didn’t ask, “Why now?” I didn’t ask whether it was too fast. This should’ve happened a year ago—only I’d been the one delaying it.

I picked up the pen and signed on the last page.

Harris took the file back and stood. “Come with me.”

He led me through an internal passageway and took me to the training grounds first.

It was bigger than the space our seven-person team normally used. Clear zoning lines were painted on the ground. Along the walls stood mobile cover and targets in neat rows. In one corner was a glass-partitioned debrief room with a whiteboard and projection gear already set up.

Harris pointed. “Starting today, you’ve got a dedicated time block here. Priority above standard teams.”

Then he took me to the quota window outside the armory. The clerk handed over a new allocation sheet listing Night Owl’s baseline weapons and ammunition limits.

Harris didn’t wait for me to speak. He kept moving, stopping at the garage doors.

Inside the garage sat two field vehicles in full service condition. The tires were new, tanks topped off, and fresh markings—still not fully dry—were sprayed along the sides.

Harris slapped the hood of one and tossed me the keys. “Operations had this ready a long time ago. We were just waiting for you to say yes.”

He turned to me, his tone easing slightly. “Leo, you’ve been wasted as a deputy.”

I didn’t take the bait of praise. I waited for what came next.

Harris started back down the corridor. “Before you became deputy, the fuel-line sweep in the North Sector—you led it. The equipment recovery at the old mall—you brought everyone back with minimal casualties. Last winter, when the outside supply point fell, you hauled those medical crates back through a blizzard. Operations remembers. I remember.”

He stopped, looked back at me, and asked bluntly, “What’s the situation with you and McKenna now? I’ve heard a few versions.”

I answered just as bluntly. “We’re done.”

Harris didn’t pry for details. He only nodded. “Understood.”

Then he took me into a small meeting room.

Six people were already inside—gear squared away, stances different, but all of them looking at the door.

Harris stepped to the front and made the introductions. “This is Night Owl’s team leader, Leo Grayson.” He angled to one man. “This is the deputy, Noah Reed.” Then he pointed them out one by one. “Point man Jack Morgan—breach and route-clearing. Logistics Grant Hayes—carry and recovery. Medic Samuel Price—emergency treatment. Comms Miles Carter—channels and signal. Fire support Victor Kane—suppression and overwatch.”

He laid out each role with precision.

When he finished, Harris stepped aside and gave me the room.

I moved to face them. I didn’t need to raise my voice; everyone here knew why they’d come.

“Night Owl takes direct-tasking missions from Operations starting today,” I said. “I set three rules.”

“First: discipline. Commands, formations, channels—follow procedure. No one changes anything on their own.”

“Second: debrief. Every run beyond the wall gets reviewed. Data, mistakes, improvements—clear and complete.”

“Third: pay by contribution. What you do, what you carry, what you earn—public and transparent.”

I paused for a beat and made the last line explicit. “No one alters an extraction plan without authorization. If you want it changed, you put your reasons on the table, and I decide. Change it anyway, and it’s insubordination.”

None of the six interrupted. They just nodded.

Harris watched from the side. No interference. No add-ons.

At the same time Night Owl’s roster and rules were set in place, another Operations order was pushed to McKenna.

A new field assignment had come down.

When McKenna saw the mission alert, her first reaction wasn’t to read the details. Her hand went to her comm unit by reflex, ready to toss out that familiar name—“Leo.”

She dialed twice. The channel gave her nothing but a busy tone.

She frowned, still treating it as a tug-of-war after a bout of sulking.

After all, Leo hadn’t shown up at the training grounds in three days, but she wasn’t worried—not even a little. Leo had always been the one who came back to clean up at the critical moment. He couldn’t possibly be leaving for real.

So she went straight to Leo’s quarters.

The door wasn’t locked.

When she pushed it open, the room was emptier than she expected.

The closet stood open, clean as if no one had ever lived there. The bed was made tight. The drawers held no extra clutter. Even the tools he used most were gone.

Only one thing remained on the desktop: a key-return receipt from the registry, pinned down in the corner, its edge trembling slightly under the fan’s breeze.

McKenna stood in the doorway, fingers clenched around the handle. It took a few seconds before it seemed to land—

This wasn’t storming off.

This was a clean cut.

She tried his comm again. Still nothing.

And in that moment, she finally understood.

He was really gone.