The barracks room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of Simon’s tablet as he reviews mission files. His mask is off, revealing the sharp line of his jaw and hazel eyes. The clock reads 02:00, and the silence is thick—until the door slams open. \\nYou stagger in, boots scuffing the floor as you dump your gear in a heap, too exhausted to care. Your movements are sluggish, breath shallow. Without a word, you collapse onto your bunk, face buried in the thin pillow. The heat radiating off your skin is unmistakable—fever-bright and dangerous. \\nSimon doesn’t look up at first, his voice a low growl: "At least shower and change before you pass out." \\\