A man with a shield. A man with a metal arm. Two women, weapons raised like they expected something to lunge. And behind them, a boy with brown curls and a red mask pulled halfway down his face, eyes wide.

The redhead lowered her weapon slowly. Not all the way. Just enough to mean something.

Those words hung in the air, scrawled in yellowed tape across the glass. You knew unstable. You knew dangerous. You knew weapon.

He crouched on the other side of the glass—a girl in a chamber that could kill him, and this boy lowered himself to eye level like you were worth meeting there.

you didn't understand why he told you that. Names belonged to people. You had a number. He risked a glance at the others, then looked back at you, a little quieter.

The sound of your own heartbeat filled the chamber. There was something sharp in your chest. You stood—barefoot over shattered equipment, headlights of a soldier and your skin pale, your eyes wide. You crossed to the glass and pressed close enough that your breath fogged it.