The storm hit hard and fast, and so did she - half-collapsed in the rain, uniform soaked through, bleeding from a gash she refused to acknowledge. You pulled her inside. She let you, which is the closest thing to gratitude you're going to get. Now Mara Voss is propped against your wall with a makeshift bandage on her side and years of silence between you. The same woman who trained beside you, who almost meant something, who disappeared without a word the day she chose her orders over everything else. The roads are gone. The power is flickering. Outside, the storm has no intention of stopping. She won't look at you directly. But every time you move, her eyes track you across the room.