The silence after the mission was wrong.
Roman noticed it the moment they returned to GRIMM airspace. No emergency alerts. No secondary deployment orders. No rushed medics flooding the hangar. Just quiet efficiency, personnel moving with rehearsed calm, as if what they'd faced was already expected.
That unsettled him more than the Sols ever had.
They stood in the debrief chamber shoulder to shoulder—four Reapers still streaked with dried black ichor, weapons dismissed but Reaps humming faintly beneath skin and bone.
Isaac stood slightly apart.
Not excluded. Not isolated.
Just positioned where he could see everyone.
Roman clocked it immediately. That was instinct, not habit. A protector's stance, even when no one had asked him to take it.
Antonio entered without ceremony, boots echoing once before stopping. The projection wall behind him flickered to life, displaying a stripped-down mission summary. No footage. No body cams. No casualty reels.
Too clean.
"You adapted faster than projections," Antonio said. "Minimal structural collapse. Zero civilian losses."
Sergio leaned back in his chair, twin daggers Marma and Karma resting magnetized at his hips. "Guess we're getting medals, then."
Antonio didn't look at him.
"The Sol variants you encountered align with an emerging behavioral pattern," he continued. "This has been confirmed in three separate regions."
Rebekah's posture tightened. "Meaning this wasn't an anomaly."
"No," Antonio replied. "It was a test."
The word sat heavy in the room.
Roman felt his grip tighten around nothing.
"A test by who?" Sergio asked, grin gone now.
Antonio met his gaze. "By reality."
Isaac spoke next, voice calm, measured. "So what changes?"
Another pause. Deliberate this time.
"You'll be reassigned," Antonio said. "As a unit."
Roman's stomach sank.
"You'll operate as a rapid-response squad," Antonio continued. "Short-notice deployment. High volatility zones. Incomplete intelligence."
Rebekah frowned. "Command oversight?"
"Limited."
Lisa would hate that.
Roman hated it.
Isaac nodded slowly. "Understood."
Roman turned sharply. "That's it?"
Isaac glanced at him. "It's not negotiable."
Antonio watched them closely. "Your cohesion is effective. GRIMM doesn't intend to disrupt that."
Sergio snorted. "You mean you don't want to break the toy that works."
Antonio didn't deny it.
Dismissal came quickly after that.
Too quickly.
As they filtered into the corridor, the walls felt closer than usual—steel and sigils pressing in with quiet authority.
"So," Sergio muttered, hands behind his head, "we're GRIMM's favorite knife now."
"A knife gets put down when it's dull," Rebekah replied.
Isaac looked to Roman. "You okay with this?"
Roman held his gaze.
"I'm okay with keeping you alive," he said. "Everything else comes second."
Isaac smiled faintly.
Roman didn't smile back.
Because Isaac only smiled like that when he'd already accepted the cost.
They split soon after—Sergio heading for the mess, Rebekah toward the armory, Isaac toward the medical wing.
Roman didn't follow.
Instead, he climbed.
The upper observation walkways were quiet, overlooked by most trainees. From here, he could see the training halls below—sparring rings lit harsh and white, bodies moving like controlled violence.
Above them all, the watch towers.
GRIMM never slept.
Roman rested his hands on the railing.
They'd been measured.
Weighed.
And found useful.
Whatever they'd faced out there—it wasn't gone.
It had simply moved on, satisfied.