[Trigger Warning: in the upcoming flashback, there are situations relating to sexual assault, but no explicit scenes]

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[ Cass's POV - six years ago ]

My legs throb with a searing ache as I remain crouched, inching forward with Sophia nestled behind me, pressed against the corner of our tent. Each second feels like a battle against exhaustion, my heart palpitating against the vein in my neck, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Wide-eyed, I stay quiet, determined to protect Sophia.

In the cramped confines of our tent, the eleven-year-old wisely remains silent as well, pressed into the corner, her small frame trembling ever so slightly with fear.

Tension radiates off my body as I try to stay as still as possible, my jaw clenched and aching body screeching at me to move, ears straining to hear the scattered voices of the men outside the thin mesh of our tent.

Beyond the deafening beat of my racing heart, I can make out around four or five distinct voices, just outside where Soph and I made camp last night.

Fuck.

As a sharp whistle permeates the air, I flinch, my heart jumping to my throat as I shift on my screaming legs. Every muscle in my thighs wails for relief, urging me to move, but I ignore it. 

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?" A deep voice booms, dangerously close, sending a chill coursing down my spine, freezing me in place. With agonizing slowness, I reach for the hunting knife secured at my belt, the sound of my shallow breaths drowning out all other noise except for the ringing in my ears.

"Panties- claim! We know what that means!" Another, rougher voice chimes in. Judging from the direction of their voices, they've found our makeshift laundry line I put up this morning.

They must be just outside the tree line that shields our tent from view. It just takes two seconds of looking to find our tent next, and there's no way in hell I'm letting that happen.

"Hey, those little shorts seem a bit too... small for an adult," a new voice observes, causing my eyebrows to rise, a wave of repulsion washing over me. They can't possibly...

"Lou, I think you're right. We might have a mommy-daughter situation here," the first voice says, a grin clear in the cadence of his voice that quickly turns my stomach, bile burning up my throat as I realize we're in a lot more danger than I thought.

With a slow, deliberate motion, I turn my head to look at Sophia. Her eyes widen like saucers, her bottom lip quivering, small arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Swallowing hard, I suppress the rising terror and exhale slowly, attempting to appear composed for her. Silently, I mouth the words to her, 'I'm distracting them. Stay. Here.' I emphasize the last two words with raised eyebrows, prompting the eleven-year-old girl to nod, her brows furrowing in the middle with worry.

'I'll be back,' I silently promise, extending my hand for a pinky swear. Trembling, she complies and wraps her pinky around mine as we've always done, nodding ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

I offer her a quick smile, knowing that those men out there finding me is far preferable to them laying their hands on my girl.

With adrenaline pulsating through my veins, my heart hammering against my ribcage, and my knife tightly gripped in my hand, I slowly and carefully unzip the tent, smoothly slipping out into the scattered afternoon light, my senses on high alert as I scan the area.

I stay crouched outside the tent, despite my muscles which only protest more at me continually refusing to stand up. Cringing slightly through the pain, I force myself to stay still, my eyes darting past the thick foliage and gnarled tree trunks, searching for any movement.

Then, I spot them.

A gaggle of men- six I count- gathered around our clothesline for our laundry. With knotted grey and brown hair, the apparent leader inspects my underwear on the clothesline with a lecherous grin, while his companions manhandle our other clothes, dirtying them with their grubby paws. 

Clenching my jaw, I finally move, cautiously inching from my spot in front of the tent to get a better look behind the large bush that helps hide our tent.

From my new vantage point of the small clearing, I confirm my count of six of them. The three inspecting our laundry, two sitting off to the side ripping into some bags of expired chips, and one more standing off to the side- alone. His arms are crossed, his head down, with what looks to be a crossbow slung over his back.

My palm digs into the harsh bark of the tree beside me, my heartbeat fully deafening now as I realize the grim reality that I have absolutely no chance against these men. They're not just any men, with their grungy clothes, bulky builds, and predatory sneers, I know these are the type of men I would've avoided in the old world. Let alone now.

"They gotta be close, right?" the one who just pocketed my (former) favorite pair of underwear asks, looking around the trees, scanning the foliage before turning to the man I assume is their leader.

The leader nods before glancing around as well, his eyes scanning right past me and our tent, not spotting either. "Or they could be login' in some of 'em houses in that nice street a click east. Not like their fancy dryer machines work no more," the leader remarks, huffing and placing his hands on his hips.

There's a pause, some of the men mumbling in agreement, shuffling to get ready to go.

"We're really gonna go lookin' for 'em?" a new voice grumbles with dry disbelief, making some of the men pause. My eyes dart over to see it's the crossbow-wielding man, squinting up past the strands of hair hanging past his eyes. His dirt-covered hand rests on the crossbow strap on his shoulder, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

A flicker of surprise flits through me at one of these men not jumping with glee at the idea of raping a woman and child.

The leader's demeanor seems to falter for a moment. "You queer or somethin'? We got fresh proof of pussy- two if we're right- and you... don't care?" he questions sharply, closing the distance to the crossbowman, his back now turned to me.

The crossbowman merely shrugs, his steely blue eyes meeting the leader's gaze without a hint of intimidation. His calm demeanor is unnerving, considering the tense situation.

Shifting uneasily on my crouched feet, I attempt to look past the leader to catch a glimpse of the crossbowman's expression, searching through the thick leaves covering me. 

My stomach abruptly plummets as the crossbowman makes direct eye contact with me, his gaze piercing through the foliage and straight into mine. Blinding panic courses through me, my muscles tensing involuntarily as I stare back at him in horror.

How did he spot me so quickly?

As the crossbowman casually moves his gaze back to the leader, his reaction remains impassive, devoid of emotion at our unexpected eye contact.

"Whatever you wanna do," he grumbles, and I can't blame him for giving in, considering the hostile glares from the rest of the group, their hands hovering over their weapons.

"Daryl, we all know you're new, but you gotta learn our rules. And hey, this is one of the perks," the leader lectures the man, Daryl, who just nods once, his gaze dropping to the ground. "You're one of us," the leader declares decidedly, clapping his shoulder roughly before walking past him and whistling to the group.

Daryl remains rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the same spot for a moment, a flicker of what seems to be... discomfort hidden within his shielded expression.

"Alright gents, we're searchin'. They gotta be close, and judgin' by their clothes, nice and clean," the leader leers, earning whoops from his peers while Daryl stays quiet, his brows drawn together as he stares at the ground.

"Hey pussy boy! Ain't you a tracker?" one of the snacking men with a red bandanna taunts Daryl, approaching him with a mocking lean-in. "Be a good boy- track," he orders, as if Daryl's a dog, earning some chuckles from the group.

Daryl silently meets Bandanna's gaze for a moment before casting his eyes downward. "I would- if you hadn't just walked through and ruined 'em," he retorts roughly, shooting a pointed look at Bandanna's feet.

Bandanna's face crumples with anger but before he can lunge at the stone-faced Daryl, the leader intercepts them with a sigh.

"Alright enough. We're gonna look 'round, maybe there'll be other tracks," the leader decides, starting to lead them in the opposite direction, making an exhale of relief puff from my mouth.

But my relief is short-lived as my body, betraying me at the worst possible moment, succumbs to the long-term burning strain of my crouching muscles. My legs cramp and with a muffled grunt, I lose my balance and drop to the ground, the sound of leaves rustling beneath me echoing loudly in the silent forest.

Panic surges through me as the men pause, one of them beginning to ask what the noise is. Before they can investigate and possibly find our tent, I scramble to my feet, my ankles and thighs throbbing with pain, and bolt as fast as I possibly can in the opposite direction, away from Sophia.

I hear the men whooping and whistling as they chase after me, their heavy footsteps crashing through the forest. Adrenaline courses through my veins, ice cold and searing at the same time, tingling the surface of my skin.

As I tear through the forest, stray leaves and branches lashing against my skin, my feet pound on the leaf-strewn ground. Chest heaving and eyes wide, I flee like a feral animal from my natural predators, knowing that if they catch me, what will happen to me is worse than death.

Just as I dare to hope that I'm getting away, my lungs searing with each breath and eyes watering, I get suddenly tackled from the side to the rough floor of the forest, a cry of pain involuntarily escaping my lips.

My body slams against the unforgiving soil, rocks, and strewn twigs, digging into my bare arms and tearing my jeans. Pain shoots through me as the large man on top of me huffs out a breath before laughing with delight, quickly calling out that he got me as his heavy body weight keeps me pinned down.

I thrash against him, my chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes clenched shut as if I don't look, it's not happening.

"Dan! Look at you, man!" Bandanna I think, calls out as if the man pinning the thrashing woman down has scored the winning goal.

I fight back a sob as I hear the other men gather around me, finally gathering the courage to open my eyes. The men look more intimidating than before, standing above us and looking at me hungrily. A sense of suffocating dread and disbelief washes over me, realizing I got caught.

"Well hi there, sunshine," the leader beams down at me, his smirk oozing with malice. I meet his gaze with a defiant glare, my mouth twisted in disgust, my chest heaving.

In a chillingly synchronized move, four of the men simultaneously declare, "Claimed!" with the exception of the leader and the man with the crossbow, Daryl.

I simply blink up at the group of men, their ravenous sneers making me feel like freshly caught prey, the stark reality of my predicament crashing down on me.

I have to get out—trick them somehow.

"Dan, help her up," the leader commands and my assailant reluctantly gets off me, hauling me unceremoniously to my feet, leaving me momentarily stumbling.

"What's your name, sweet-cheeks?" the leader inquires, leaning in so close that his hot repulsive breath fans against my skin. His eyes peering into my face, his rough face etched with layers of dirt, his teeth yellowing. 

My cheeks burn with humiliation and hatred as I meet his gaze with steely resolve, a simmering rage coursing through my veins.

"Sweet-cheeks works just fine," I grit out flatly through my clenched jaw, my words only pulling an amused grin across the leader's face. His dark eyes drop down my figure, an enthusiasm behind his eyes that sends chills across my battered skin.

"Well, sweet-cheeks, we're going to give you one hell of a night, whether you want to or not," the leader tells me calmly, brushing a stray leaf from my cheek, and making me thrash slightly. Dan tightens his grip on my upper arm in response, eliciting a suppressed whimper of pain from me. "Where's your kid?"

I narrow my eyes, my heart slamming repeatedly against my ribs like a trapped bird against a cage. "What kid?" I ask with a slight scoff of disbelief, hoping that my shitty lying ability won't betray me as I thrash against Dan's iron grip.

"Ain't that your clothes out there?" A man from the left asks, but I don't bother looking in the direction, still glaring at their leader's curious eyes.

"No," I respond shortly, my jaw clenched, body trembling slightly with repressed fury.

No matter what, I will not let any of these men near my girl.

Blinking rapidly, I scan the group, my heart racing even faster. Thankfully, my mind works just as quickly, maybe thanks to my ER training, urging me to think on my feet.

Angling my chin up with dignity, I meet the leader's gaze defiantly. "Do I get to pick who goes first? Or do you need a woman defenseless and fighting to get it up?" I ask, my words coming out like a bite, making the leader lean back with surprise.

He glances around the group at his men watching us, shocked, some seeming excited as they look me up and down.

The leader looks back at me, his smile unsettling. "You know what? You will get to choose. But when we get back to where we're holed up for the night. We're not animals after all," he explains with a smile, and I simply tilt my head back, disagreeing with his last sentiment as I try to hide my panic at leaving the area. I've already begun to lose track of where our tent is, getting further away will make it harder to find Sophia.

I don't get a choice in the matter, knowing if I try to escape now, they'll be much more aggressive and I'll be dead. And if she's left on her own, Sophia is good as dead.

Around ten minutes later we arrive at a large storage building, with around four cars parked inside, along with the dust-layered boxes of storage, stray blankets, and metal walls.

Dragged in roughly, my boots stumble on the concrete floor as my eyes dart around the room, looking for possible exit points, only finding cracked windows behind cars that I can tell a few of them are sleeping in. Besides the door we walked into, there's only one more off to the side. 

Dan finally lets me go, and I step away, rubbing away the soreness from my upper arm, where his hands had been digging in. Sending him a venomous glare, I sidestep away from him, my skin crawling.

"Alright, choose away princess. Because you've come willingly, I'll let you have your privacy in that office there," the leader tells me, nodding at the door I noticed earlier, making me gulp. Slowly looking back at the men gathered around me, I pretend to decide, despite having already made up my mind.

My gaze drags past the heavily breathing men watching me hungrily until my eyes find the one. The one staring at the floor, his jaw clenches, eyebrows drawn tightly with what seems to be repressed emotion.

"Crossbow," I say quietly, noting the nearby men's irritation and impatience palpable in their shifting feet. Daryl looks up from leaning against one of the cars with wide eyes, seemingly startled by my choice.

"Of course," Bandanna mutters bitterly, shaking his head with disbelief as the leader whistles Daryl over.

Daryl nears us, sending me a bewildered look.

"You've been chosen. Don't rough her up too much, 'lright?" the leader orders, patting Daryl's back roughly once again, making him lurch forward, a muscle in his jaw feathering before his squinting eyes meet mine.

Wordlessly, I turn and walk to the office, my heart racing, hoping and praying I'm not wrong in doing this. That my gut feeling hasn't betrayed me.

I hear some muffled speaking before footsteps follow me, and I pray that he hasn't let someone else go. Pushing open the door, I steal a glance over my shoulder, barely suppressing a sigh of relief when I see Daryl grimacing as he trails behind me.

Daryl follows me in, closing the door behind him, leaving us in the partially dark room, with some light filtering in from the dusted window.

"Listen I'm not gonna—"

"—Can you help me?" I ask him desperately, locking eyes with him, my hushed voice trembling with urgency as I search his expression for any sign of empathy.

Daryl pauses, his brow furrowing as he processes my plea. "...help you?" he repeats roughly, squinting in the dim light of the office.

My heart sinks slightly at his hesitation, my heart racing and chest heaving as I try to make my case to a man who owes me nothing. "My daughter, she's back at my camp. Please, help me get back to her," I plead, reaching out and grasping his large, dirt-covered hands tightly, causing him to flinch.

"Why you askin'... me?" he questions, his confusion evident in the way his eyes search mine, prompting me to exhale sharply, fighting back tears of frustration.

"Cause I can tell you're not like the rest of them," I explain earnestly, my eyes darting across his expression, searching desperately for any trace of understanding. "You're different. I know you knew I was there and you said nothing," I breathe desperately, but the man only stares at me, seeming still bewildered.

"Soph needs me. She's too young to survive on her own, please," I beg breathlessly, my voice cracking at the idea of not returning to her, of leaving her alone in that tent, watching as the man's expression quickly changes at my words.

He chews on his cheek for a moment, looking at me before slowly nodding, his eyes downcast. 

Relief washes over me and I let out a shuddering breath. "Thank you," I sigh openly, my body sagging with gratitude. Daryl nods, awkwardly pulling his hands from me to check the window. Satisfied, he turns back to me, determination etched into his features.

"We break the window, pretend you fought back and you run and get your and your daughter as far away as fuckin' possible," Daryl orders roughly, turning fully back around, his voice edged with urgency.

I breathe heavily, nodding as I wring out my hands, steeling myself for what lies ahead.

"Run East. That'll take you back to the clothesline," he mumbles, offering the piece of direction that I grasp onto with desperate appreciation.

I blink at him for a moment with a small smile of gratitude, studying his hard-to-read expression. "Why are you with them?" I ask quietly, sensing that he's not nearly as bad as his hardened exterior pretends.

Daryl stiffens slightly, averting his gaze, chewing on his cheek again. I wonder if that's a nervous habit. "Lost everyone," he grunts simply, grief laced in his brief words that resonate deep in my chest.

Knitting my brows together, my chest rises and falls quickly. "You could come with me. Soph doesn't like strangers but when she hears what you did for me—"

"—Nah," Daryl interrupts me, his raspy voice carrying a weight of finality. I press my lips together, a silent acknowledgment of his decision as he shakes his head. "This is who I am," he grunts, his tone tinged with resignation, nudging his head back to the monsters beyond the way who would've laughed in my face if I had begged any of them for help. 

I study him for a moment, fundamentally disagreeing with him despite not knowing him well enough. He's not that same type of predatory man, despite his believing he is.

"Well. Thank you. Again," I express genuinely, not knowing how I could've gotten out of this otherwise. I'm capable on a certain level, but taking out six men is simply not possible for me.

Daryl nods, breaking the glass window with the butt of his crossbow, using one of the shards to create superficial cuts on his skin. I realize he's making it look like I got the better of him with glass. Smart.

"Get outta here," he whispers roughly, and I nod quickly, sending one appreciative last look over my shoulder before hopping through the window, wincing at the impact on my shins.

As I take off East, the distant shouts of raised male voices fade into the background, making me grit my teeth and run harder. I push through the pain, the ache, and the searing in my lungs until I get back.

Until I fulfill my promise once again, that I will never abandon Sophia.

Ever.

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[ Cass's POV -  present (one month after ch 2) ]

Dropping off the nearby chart on the nurse station, I smile briefly at the sitting nurses, before making my way to my next destination.

Tilting my head to the side, I crack my neck as I slowly walk through the poorly lit halls of the CRM hospital, looking forward to getting a break to speak with my dear friend. Staring at the stained linoleum floor as I go, I smile to myself, wondering what he's up to today considering he told me this meeting is important.

My smile abruptly drops at the familiar voice ahead of me, immediately faltering my feet. "Dr. Adams," Okafor's voice rumbles, making me stop. My good mood abruptly shattered, I slowly look up to meet his expectant gaze as he stands before me in the hall. He's in his usual full uniform, looking just as controlling and important as usual. 

I stiffen involuntarily, the distaste I hold for the man contorting my otherwise composed expression, my jaw clenching. "Lieutenant Colonel," I grit out evenly, my response laced with a palpable edge.

Okafor's lips twitch into a slight smile. "Going to see Nat?" he asks knowingly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me before I manage a curt nod, resenting his insight. "Ah, I just left him. I'll find you later. I need to speak with you about something important," Okafor informs me casually, his words injecting a sense of obligation that coils uncomfortably within me.

As if I have any fucking choice in the matter. The sensation of helplessness gnaws at me, igniting a simmering frustration at my continued imprisonment here.

"Yes, sir," I reply tersely, my expression remaining impassive as I observe the amusement dancing in the depths of his dark eyes. With a single nod, he strides past me, leaving me to exhale heavily before rolling my eyes and rounding the corner to Nat's office.

The dark, cramped, yet wonderfully familiar room greets me with an array of Nat's ongoing experiments and creations, scattered haphazardly across shelves and surfaces, a testament to his ceaseless curiosity. At his workbench, Nat is engrossed in something, his back to me as I enter.

"Heard Okafor graced you with his presence," I remark dryly, leaning casually against the doorway, my arms crossed. Nat whirls around, a bright smile spreading across his face as he sets down the tools he is tinkering with.

"Unfortunately," he laughs good-naturedly. "Come in! I'm almost done," he invites eagerly, gesturing for me to join him, and I comply willingly, already feeling a weight lifting from my shoulders in his company.

Nat has that effect on people. He's sharp-witted and a little quirky sometimes, but he's real. That's hard to come by here.

As I round the large table cluttered with parts and approach Nat's well-lit workstation, I peer over his shoulder with keen interest. He's meticulously assembling a sleek, all-black prosthetic for a left hand, adorned with intricate black leather straps and subtle, functional details. Nat is deeply engrossed, making minute adjustments at the elbow joint.

My brows furrow slightly in confusion, before jumping back in surprise as a Nat moves the arm and a large blade snaps out like a switchblade.

"Woah," I breathe, my brows raised as Nat turns to me with a wide grin. 

"Okafor's orders. The patient's needs have changed apparently," Nat murmurs thoughtfully as he twirls the prosthetic in his small yet extremely talented hands before handing it to me.

I take it, carefully examining the craftsmanship with growing admiration. "'Needs have changed'?" I echo absentmindedly, my eyes narrowing slightly as I look up to meet Nat's gaze. He sucks in a breath through his teeth before nodding once and hopping off his stool, crossing the room to his very full storage shelf.

"Yep. He needs his soldiers armed," Nat murmurs as he scans the shelf, looking for something.

Leaning against Nat's desk, I slowly manipulate the prosthetic in my hands, marveling at Nat's skill and attention to detail. The device is not just a replacement limb but a work of art, seamlessly integrating utility with a hint of deadly precision. I don't know how he does it.

But this means, my first patient here, the escape artist, has decided to become a CRM soldier, joining the ranks of the deadly and oppressive operatives. A slight sigh leaves my lips as I look down at the prosthetic.

They always get them eventually.

"Is this all that Okafor wanted with you?" I ask curiously, looking up from the false arm to see Nat stiffen slightly. He retrieves a part from his storage shelf and slowly walks back to his desk, avoiding my gaze.

I tilt my head, worry fitting through me at his avoidance. "Nat..." I say slowly, my voice tinged with concern as the man who I thought understood this place as well as I do avoids eye contact, instead, fiddling with some electrical part.

"He... may have been recruiting me once again," Nat mumbles, making me roll my eyes in annoyance. Okafor hasn't left the poor man alone, constantly telling him that his expertise would be 'greatly appreciated' in the CRM. But both Nat and I harbor deep suspicions and distrust of the entire operation, there's no way in hell that's happening. 

I snort, shaking my head. "You mean trying to," I comment knowingly, a proud smile tugging at my lips, glad that Nat has resisted their relentless recruitment efforts along with me.

There's a beat of silence as I stare at the far wall, my concern twisting into a knot in my gut the longer the silence stretches. I glance back at my friend as he screws in a bolt to his new creation, his lips pressed into a thin line. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, blinking rapidly without meeting my eyes.

Realization washes over me, chilling me to the bone. My mouth parts, eyebrows knitting together. "No," I half-breathe, half-whimper, closing my eyes momentarily.

They got him too. 

"Cass, it just makes sense. With what they're saying—what they're offering me—I just can't say no," Nat says quietly. Behind my closed eyelids, I can see his expression of regret and resignation.

Shaking my head, I push off the desk, swallowing back the hurt that threatens to overwhelm me. 

"It's not so bad, Cass. Things won't change. But they're giving me a new lab—new supplies that actually work—"

"—Nat." I interrupt him breathlessly, turning back to my friend. He's watching me, twisting his hands nervously, an unspoken apology in his eyes. I tilt my head to the side, forcing a wistful smile.

"It's okay. I understand," I say with a slow exhale, running my hand through my hair, the other still gripping the damn prosthetic. "I should go. I have a soldier waiting for his new weapon," I mutter bitterly, turning to leave.

"Cass," Nat's raspy voice stops me in my tracks, a singular plea that cuts through my resolve. I glance over my shoulder to meet his desperate gaze.

"They're not gonna change me. Or you," he murmurs. His eyes bore into mine, filled with fragile hope. My brows twitch with confusion as I try to decipher his meaning. After a moment, I just nod once, a curt acknowledgment of his words, before heading out.

The corridor outside Nat's lab feels somehow colder, the dim light casting long shadows that echo the turmoil inside me. My mind races as I clutch the prosthetic tighter, its cold metal pressing into my palm, grounding me in this harsh reality. The thought of Nat, someone so vibrant and genuine, being pulled into the CRM's schemes stirs a bitter anger within me.

As I walk away from Nat's lab, I shake my head, focusing on steadying my breath before I enter the patient's room. I remind myself sternly not to let my personal feelings interfere with my duties—with my job. Each step echoes on the linoleum floor, a steady rhythm that helps ground me in the present moment.

After knocking on the pale wooden door softly, I enter the small patient room—one of the blue-walled check-up spaces we use for small appointments like these. 

The first thing I see when I walk in is Okafor's broad back as he speaks with the former escape artist turned obedient little soldier. Something... Grimes, if I remember right. Okafor turns, a slight smile playing on his lips as he steps back, revealing the man seated on the examination table.

Grimes' piercing blue eyes meet mine, framed by salt-and-pepper curls that add a softness to his rugged face littered with hardened lines. His sharp gaze flickers with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as it meets my eyes for a split second before settling on the prosthetic in my hands.

Inhaling deeply to compose myself, I clear my throat softly, trying to dispel the strange pull I feel in my chest whenever I'm around him. It's... strange. 

"Dr. Adams, I see Nat got you all set," Okafor comments, drawing my attention from the strangely attractive man in front of me. I meet the Lieutenant Colonel's gaze, noting the look in his dark brown eyes that unsettles me, nodding just once.

"Of course," I reply with my terse nod, eager to shift my focus back to my patient and away from Okafor's scrutinizing presence, greatly preferring looking at the gaze of the man who ripped me away from my girl. 

"I'm going to need to strap this around your shoulder, alright?" I ask Grimes, my gaze meeting those startling blue eyes that for some inexplicable reason make my heart clench as I step closer to him sitting on the examination table. A strange feeling buzzes through my veins as he simply nods, swallowing hard.

Leaning in, I buckle the leather straps over his well-toned back, my fingers skimming across his warm t-shirt. I swallow thickly at the proximity, at the feeling of his strong muscle under the thin cotton of the CRM-regulated black t-shirt. As I lean particularly close to secure the straps around his broad shoulder, my heart stutters at the scent of him—a soapy smell mingled with a faded scent of cedarwood.

Swiftly pulling back, I clear my throat, refocusing on adjusting the prosthetic to fit his amputation, my fingertips grazing the contours of his warm skin. I swear I feel his muscles tense under my touch, but I must be imagining it. Once done, I step back, my eyes darting to his, which have been watching me intently.

"That feel alright?" I ask, my voice steady despite the rapid thud of my heart. Stepping back further, I study his well-structured face for any sign of discomfort. He nods, his gaze shifting to his new prosthetic, his eyes squinting slightly as he raises his arm, testing the movement with a careful adjustment of Nat's handiwork.

Giving him more room, I retreat another step, hoping it will give my heart a reason to stop beating so goddamn fast.

"I had Nat add something for you. Flick your arm down." Okafor tells Grimes, making the man glance at Okafor with slight confusion, before doing as he's ordered, his brows raising slightly as the blade flips out just as it did earlier. I watch the pair, distaste festering under my skin, knowing that Okafor has a pretty new soldier.

"Alright, feel free to adjust the straps to your liking to make it more comfortable. Remember you will start physical therapy next week." I tell Grimes, barely meeting his gaze, ready to get the hell out of here. "Have a good afternoon gentlemen," I say flatly, turning to walk out of the room, only for Okafor to grab my elbow at the last second to stop me.

"I said I needed to talk to you, Adams," Okafor states with raised eyebrows, his grip firm yet controlled. I clench my jaw, silently cursing that he remembered, turning back to him. Reluctantly, I nod, forcing myself not to glance back at Grimes and risk being distracted again.

"Things are changing in the CRM and I need you with us," Okafor says simply, his simple sentence making my blood run cold with dread. I stare at him in disbelief, blinking at his serious expression and the expectant look in his dark eyes.

Swallowing hard, I steal a glance at Grimes, who watches us with slightly squinted eyes, as if trying to figure this out. "Lieutenant, I've told you before, I need to stay here, where I can see—" I start, my voice catching as Okafor cuts me off sharply.

"—That is no longer possible," Okafor interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. A wave of unease washes over me, fear creeping up my spine at the implications of his words—at the thought of being any further from Sophia. I barely get to see her as it is. "Our previous agreement was under different circumstances. Things have drastically changed in the CRM. We need doctors on the field."

I blink at him, struggling to process his words, my heart racing for an entirely new reason. "The field? You mean... you w-want me to be a soldier?" I demand, my voice trembling slightly, my eyes wide with disbelief and concern, not caring at this point that Grimes is right here, watching this. 

Okafor nods. "We've had too many men getting injured and not getting care in time. Our other doctors are older and in no shape to fight. But you... well, we both know what you're capable of," Okafor says calmly, his brows slightly raised, confident in his reasoning, not seeming remotely phased by my reluctance.

"But our agreement, my—" I start, desperation creeping into my voice.

"—You will still be able to visit. Just less. Remember, Adams, you don't have a choice," Okafor interjects, his eyes narrowing slightly, devoid of any hint of sympathy. Resentment and fierce fear churn inside me, but I maintain a composed facade, nodding once and looking away, closing my eyes briefly to suppress the deep ache in my chest.

"You'll see a friendly face in your training group. Grimes here is starting at the same time," Okafor tells me with a slight smile, nudging his head at my patient. Grimes, who had been intently studying his prosthetic, stiffens slightly before looking up, his blue eyes meeting mine.

Despite the rage going through me and the idea of seeing Grimes not seeming remotely important, I force a tight smile, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Great," I manage to get out, my voice hollow and lifeless. 

Okafor acknowledges my compliance with a satisfied nod, briefly acknowledging Grimes before focusing back on me. "They'll arrange your transfer for tomorrow. See you there, soldier."

I control my expression carefully, my hands subtly clenching at my sides as I nod, my eyes cold. "Tomorrow," I say flatly, before turning on my heel and getting the hell out of that room, not even looking at Grimes. 

The door slams behind me as I hastily leave the room, my heart only pounding harder as I storm away from the room, my footsteps echoing on the linoleum as I go. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, trying desperately to control my racing thoughts, the panic slithering up my spine, ice-cold constricting my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. 

Finally finding solace in an unoccupied hallway, I hastily slam my back against the cool wall, gasping for air as my heart slams against my ribcage like a feral animal. The anxiety prickles across my skin, my expression contorting with fear and frustration. I curse silently, sinking down until I'm seated on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest.

My trembling hands cover my face as I struggle to steady my harsh breathing amidst the overwhelming uncertainty. The harsh, immaculate floors offer no comfort against my tailbone as the weight of my impending reality sets in.

I'm going to be a soldier. 

In the CRM.

And I will most likely never see my girl, especially if I get my sorry ass killed. I'll break that pinky promise I made her all those years ago, despite trying everything to stop it. 

God fucking damn it. 

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

A/N: Sorry this took so long!! I'm so excited for what I have planned hehehe