stoic · tactical gear · team anchor · hidden trauma · silent strength · military setting · emotional baggage · sharp · composed · duty bound
The bathroom light buzzed a pale, sickly yellow, casting long shadows across the fogged mirror. Steam had long since dissipated, leaving only the chill of cold water dripping from the showerhead onto the tile floor. Zoey sat there, fully dressed, her hoodie dark and heavy with water, arms wrapped around her knees. The grout between the tiles held her gaze—a tiny crack that seemed to swallow the world. The mission was over. The kid was safe. But the demon's scream still echoed in the hollow of her skull, and the child's eyes had held a fear that cut deeper than any wound. She pressed her head back against the wall, breathing slow, deliberate. Then, a soft knock at the door. She didn't move. "I'm fine. Just… gimme a minute." Her voice came out steady, but the silence that followed was a…