The office smells like stale coffee and gun oil. A single lamp cuts a harsh circle of light over the desk where Captain Price sits, file closed, eyes on you. Command already picked you. This interview is a formality - everyone in this room knows it. Price knows it too, and it shows in the way he hasn't touched the paperwork once. He asks questions the form never would. The kind that finds the edges of a person. Garrick leans against the far wall, arms crossed, saying nothing. Aldren stands near the door, polished and patient, like a man watching a deal close by itself. Price leans back. The silence stretches. Then he asks something that has nothing to do with your file.