Dusk had just fallen when the convoy rolled into a deserted village and cut its headlights. The locals had clearly fled long ago. Only the wind wandered freely between broken walls and crumbling ruins. Still, for caution’s sake, Richard sent scouts ahead.

  To his surprise, it was Tyto who volunteered to take the task. That, at least, made Richard feel he had finally learned some sense. Not long after, Tyto returned.

  “All clear,” he said.

  They moved into the village and set up a fuel stove in a courtyard. Gruba, the driver of the Land Cruiser, handled the heating of the rations.

  The canned food warmed quickly. It was standard-issue military fare, but on a night this cold, even that brought a measure of comfort. Richard sat on the ground like the others, holding his can. He glanced toward Tyto, who was pacing on guard duty with a cigarette.

  “Aren’t you eating?”

  Tyto shook his head. “I ate earlier in town.”

  Richard grunted and dipped his spoon back into the meat stew.

  Then Tyto said, “What about the woman in the G63? She doesn’t eat?”

  Richard froze. His eyes widened. He flung his spoon back into the can with a clang.

  “Shit. We’ve been so focused on securing her, no one remembered to feed her.”

  “You haven’t fed her?” Tyto sounded almost disbelieving.

  “It’s been, what, three days?” Viktor said.

  “I thought the tranquilizers were just kicking in better,” muttered Louis.

  “You’ve been shooting her up every day—how the hell did you forget food?” Richard shoved Louis on the shoulder and scrambled to his feet.

  “Can anyone survive three days without eating?” Yura asked from the back of the Land Cruiser.

  That was what worried them now. They rushed to the G63. Malik opened the back. The target lay curled on the floor of the cage, hands zip-tied behind her back, lips cracked, eyes shut tight.

  Louis opened the cage, checked her pupils and the side of her neck.

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  “She’s alive.”

  Richard let out a breath.

  “Find something to feed her. Now.”

  But no one moved. They all knew how to kill, not how to care.

  Tyto said, “Soften up the ration bars in hot water. She can drink it.”

  Standard-issue biscuits weren’t ideal for someone near death.

  “Do it,” Richard said.

  Since Louis had been in charge of the target, he naturally took the can and went to scoop some hot water. The others, reassured that she was alive, returned to their meals.

  Tyto took the can from Louis.

  “I’ll do it. Go back and eat.”

  He climbed into the G63 and pulled the woman up, propping her against the wall. She was lighter than expected. He had only ever carried teammates—or corpses.

  He lifted the spoon to her lips and gave a quiet order:

  “Eat.”

  She opened her eyes. For the first time, he saw them clearly—black.

  Her lips stayed sealed. She turned her face away. Even that motion seemed to cost her.

  “Open your mouth.” His voice remained flat.

  The gruel had the sour smell of industrial food. He noticed a slight swallow in her throat—but still no movement.

  His patience was thinning. Was she testing him, or truly too weak? He’d heard of hunger cases where digestion shut down entirely. But here, in the wilderness, they had no IVs.

  He gripped her chin and tilted her head back, brought the spoon to her mouth again, and forced it in. Then he let go.

  “Swallow.”

  This time, she obeyed. The can emptied faster than he’d expected. Not once did her eyes show fear, or hate—only a strange, calm acceptance.

  Tyto tossed the spoon into the empty can. Only then did he notice her bare feet—ankles swollen, skin bruised a sickly purple. She must have seen him look. Her legs shifted slightly, as if the bindings had grown unbearable.

  He stepped out and walked back to the stove.

  “What exactly is our objective?” he asked Richard.

  “We went over this on comms. Keep her alive. Deliver her to the lab in Granitz.”

  “Then we need to cut her loose.”

  Richard stood. “They added you to this op because you’re heading that way. Doesn’t mean you get to act on your own.”

  “She’ll die if we don’t. Could be peripheral necrosis. Could be a DVT turning into a pulmonary embolism.”

  Richard quickened his pace to catch up, a little lost in the terminology. They knew how to deliver corpses. Escorting the living was another matter.

  By the time he reached the G63, Tyto was already back inside. He drew his combat knife. The woman tensed. He didn’t explain—just pulled her down, sliced through the plastic ties at her wrists and ankles. His hands moved like he was opening a damp ammo crate—efficient, measured.

  “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’m just a tagalong. But I don’t tolerate failure in details.”

  Richard peered in, hand on his pistol. “You think she’s really at risk?”

  “She is,” said the woman herself.

  Her voice was low and rough, but somehow more convincing because of it.

  “I checked,” Tyto said. He lifted her arm into the moonlight—pale, narrow, limp in a gloved hand. “She’s got the body of a civilian.”

  Richard muttered something, weighing the risk.

  “Fine. But don’t try anything.”

  He turned and shouted,

  “Viktor, Louis, Malik! If you’re done eating—move!”