Mara strode down the main corridor of Jaeger Base. Her heels clicked sharply against the polished concrete floor, setting a crisp military rhythm that made everyone she passed snap instinctively to attention.
"Anyone seen the captain?"
The hunter she'd just stopped—a stocky guy named Hicks—froze mid-step. His eyes flicked nervously between Mara and the wall behind her.
"The… captain?"
"Yes. Elias Mercer. Our captain. The one who signs your paychecks. Six-two, messy black hair, perpetually half-asleep eyes, and a pathological habit of vanishing the moment things get critical."
Hicks swallowed hard. "I… uh… no. Haven't seen him."
Mara narrowed her eyes. "Hicks."
"I swear I haven't, Vice-Captain! On my life!"
She stared him down for another three seconds, then moved on without a word. Hicks let out a loud breath the moment she was out of range.
The same scene played out again. And again.
Torin in the armory: "No clue, Vice-Captain."
Briggs, hunched over a surveillance monitor: "He was here this morning. I think. Maybe."
Camille, coming out of the training room with a towel around her neck: "Sorry. Haven't seen him since the briefing."
Mara stopped in the middle of the hall, arms folded, and swept the room with her gaze. Half a dozen hunters suddenly became intensely focused on whatever they were doing.
"Bunch of idiots," she muttered.
She resumed the hunt, turning into the east corridor. That's where she spotted him.
Finn.
The young hunter was leaning against the wall by the vending machines, soda can in hand. His eyes went wide the second he saw her coming.
"Finn," Mara said, stopping right in front of him.
"V-Vice-Captain!" He straightened up so fast he nearly spilled his drink.
"You seen the captain?"
"I… no, I…"
Mara didn't say anything. She just looked at him. Silently.
Finn lasted five seconds before he broke.
"West wing! Last room on the left! Near the utility closet! But I didn't say anything, okay?! If he asks, I'm telling him you tortured me! With pliers! And jumper cables!"
Mara walked past him without a word, leaving Finn to slide down the wall, muttering apologies to a captain who wasn't there.
The west wing of Jaeger Base was almost never used. Too far from the training areas, too close to the loud ventilation systems. A couple of storage rooms, a janitor's closet, and at the end of the hall, a small alcove with a window overlooking the rear courtyard.
Mara turned left.
And stopped.
There, in the alcove, was a potted plant. A big navy-blue ceramic pot holding a half-dead ficus that had probably been abandoned by the setup crew. No one watered it. No one cared.
No one except, apparently, Elias, who was crouched behind it.
Mara blinked.
Elias was curled up in the absurdly small space between the pot and the wall, knees drawn to his chest, chin resting on his folded arms. He was staring straight ahead at nothing.
"Captain," Mara said, voice perfectly flat.
Elias didn't move. "No."
"Yes."
"I'm a potted plant. Potted plants don't talk."
"Potted plants don't wear wrinkled command coats and breathe."
"Minor details."
Mara pinched the bridge of her nose. Inhaled. Exhaled. Counted to five in her head.
"We're late," she said at last.
"You should be used to it by now," Elias replied without looking at her. "How long have you been here? Three weeks? Four?"
"A month and a half."
"A month and a half." He nodded slowly, as if contemplating some deep universal truth. "Bad company corrupts good character, Mara. You ought to be as much of a mess as the rest of us by now. Why aren't you? It's suspicious."
"Because I'm the exception."
"Everyone thinks they're the exception. Statistically impossible."
"Statistically, you all should've been dead or discharged years ago."
"Touché."
Mara crouched to his level. "Captain. We have a memorial ceremony in forty minutes. As the captain of the company that helped neutralize Rift S, your presence is required. Not optional. Required."
Elias finally turned his head toward her. "You can go instead."
"No."
"Why not? You're vice-captain. Better posture. You don't yawn through speeches. You don't fall asleep standing up. Honestly, you're the better choice."
"They want to see you. You're one of the heroes of the story, whether you like it or not."
"I hate that word."
"I know."
Mara stood, brushed off her uniform, then—without warning—grabbed Elias by the collar and hauled him out of his hiding spot with enough force to surprise even him.
"Hey, hey, easy!" he protested, feet scraping the floor. "That's assault! Abuse of authority! I'm filing a complaint with HR!"
"We don't have HR."
"Then I'll start one just to complain about you!"
Mara ignored him and dragged him down the hall. A few hunters peeking from doorways watched them go. Some smirked. Others looked at their captain with genuine sympathy.
Briggs gave a thumbs-up. "Good luck, boss!"
"Traitor," Elias muttered as they passed.
In the vehicle—a standard black SUV—Mara drove while Elias slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the windshield.
"You could still go for me," he tried one last time.
"No."
"My reputation will take a hit if I show up. People will think I've gone responsible."
"The company's reputation will take a bigger hit if you don't."
Elias snorted. "What reputation? We're already the lowest-rated outfit in the country. What else can they say? 'Oh, the Jaegers—still total shit, but now they're disrespecting official ceremonies too'? It's on brand."
Mara sighed.
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Morning traffic was light; the sky was a flat, uniform gray that washed the city in dull light.
"Captain Borin woke up last night," Mara said, eyes on the road.
Elias didn't react right away. He closed his eyes, laced his fingers behind his head, and sank deeper into the seat.
"Mmm," he grunted.
Mara glanced at him.
"From what I heard," she went on, "his first words were—and I quote—'Where's that fucking Mercer? I'm gonna rip his tongue out and feed it to him.'"
Elias's mouth twitched. A tiny smile—gone so fast it might've been imaginary—flickered across his face before he slipped back into fake sleep.
"Charming," he muttered.
"Then he demanded painkillers and threatened to quit if they didn't bring him whiskey." Mara paused. "Doctors said no. He threatened to quit anyway."
"His prerogative."
"He also said something interesting. Mentioned a masked figure," Mara said, easing off the gas at a red light. "Someone who can open Rifts. Or at least manipulate them. Keep them open. Maybe even create them."
Elias didn't move.
"That's odd," Mara continued, "because there's no mention of any such person in your official report, Captain."
The light turned green. Mara accelerated.
"So," she said, "do I believe a man fresh out of an induced coma—possibly delirious, memories scrambled by severe trauma—or do I believe his decorated savior, who filed a clear, concise report with zero unnecessary details?"
Elias opened one eye. "Trick question?"
"No. Observation."
"Then observe quietly."
Mara's grip tightened on the wheel. "Withholding critical intelligence in an official report could be considered treason, Captain."
Elias closed the eye again. "Cool."
Then he opened both, sat up a little. "Borin's coming to the ceremony?"
Mara blinked. "Yes. They cleared him to attend."
"Good," Elias said, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "Then he's paying cash."
"Paying what?"
"His tab." He settled back into the seat, eyes closing with satisfaction. "You know how much a life costs? In eternal gratitude, unpayable moral debt, and—most importantly—free rounds of beer?"
Mara stared at him. "You're serious."
"Dead serious. I'm getting at least ten rounds out of him. Minimum. Plus dinner. A good one."
"You saved his life."
"Exactly."
"And all you care about is free drinks."
"And dinner. Don't forget dinner."