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Farewell Before Departure

  The loading platform was drenched in stark white light, too harsh for this hour. The metal floor felt like ice even through boot soles, and the air rang with the dull echo of voices, footsteps, and muted orders. The "Legion of the Heavens" spec ops team prepped for departure, and Darina, fully geared up, checked her equipment near the cargo hatch.

  Victoria stood a little ways off, hands buried in her pockets as if the gesture could shield her from reality. Darina had clocked her presence ten minutes ago but held off. The longer you don’t turn around, the easier it is to keep your face straight.

  Finally, she did.

  “You didn’t have to come,” Darina said, her voice steady but laced with a bitterness tugging at her lips. “I told you, it’s just a mission. Routine.”

  “Routine,” Victoria echoed, stepping closer. “You say that every time. But I still show up. And I’ll keep showing up.”

  Darina’s mouth quirked into that lopsided, faintly guilty smile that always squeezed Victoria’s heart.

  They stood close but didn’t touch. Right here, in the middle of the platform, amid colleagues and prying eyes, contact was off-limits. Just a look—that they could afford. And it was a look so charged, no touch was needed to feel every emotion.

  “How long till you’re back?” Victoria asked, though she already knew.

  “If it goes to plan, about five weeks. But you know how it is.”

  “I do,” Victoria nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Darina glanced down at her gloves, adjusting a wrist clasp—buying herself a few extra seconds of silence. When she met Victoria’s eyes again, they held the calm of a soldier used to stepping into the unknown.

  “You’re my ground,” Darina said suddenly. “The one piece of normal I cling to when everything turns to smoke and blood.”

  Victoria clenched her fists in her pockets. She knew if she reached out now, brushed Darina’s face, she’d crack. Tears would spill. And tears didn’t belong here.

  “Just come back,” she said, voice low and rough. “That’s all I need.”

  Darina nodded once. Sharp, like a salute.

  “I will.”

  They froze—a final breath, one last moment before slipping back into the roles their jobs forged: soldier and engineer. Two cogs in a vast machine where the personal always bowed to the professional.

  Then Victoria’s gaze snagged on a figure standing ten meters off, apart from the rest.

  A woman, average height or slightly taller, wore an unfastened tactical vest over a cropped sports top, exposing a chiseled abdomen and arms—muscles rippling under skin like a pro weightlifter or elite saboteur. Every move was precise, efficient, powerful, like a predator conserving energy.

  But that image shattered when you looked up.

  Her face could’ve been ripped from a luxury brand ad—perfectly symmetrical, with flawless cheekbones, soft lips, and porcelain skin. Doll-like beauty, absurdly out of place for her line of work, yet it only gripped your attention harder. Platinum hair, long and silky, was pulled into a tight ponytail—fit for a cover model, not a battle-scarred vet.

  But her eyes hit hardest—cold as tempered titanium. They flicked over Victoria without lingering, betraying nothing. The stare of someone who scanned a room on autopilot, as natural as breathing.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Darina caught where her gaze went.

  “That’s Harrison,” she whispered, barely audible. “Our squad’s major. If anyone’s ass gets dragged back alive, it’s thanks to her.”

  Victoria kept watching as the major vanished behind the massive hatch doors. Something about her wouldn’t let go—maybe the predatory rhythm of her stride, or the jarring clash between her sculpted body and that delicate, almost unnatural beauty.

  Darina smirked, clocking her stare.

  “Caught your eye?” Her voice dipped, carrying that familiar teasing edge Victoria knew too well. “You’re not the first to gawk.”

  Victoria flushed, looking away, but Darina just snorted and leaned in, voice lower.

  “Know what they called her when she joined the Legion? ‘Doll with an Axe.’ She could snap an instructor’s neck barehanded back then, all while looking like she’d stepped off a runway.”

  “But that…” Victoria faltered, grasping for words, “it can’t be her real face?”

  Darina squinted, biting her lip as if weighing how much to share.

  “Yes and no. Her real face was mostly burns and bone fragments after a stray rocket seven years back. Reynolds—our commander now—pulled her out. Word is, he smothered the flames with his hands waiting for medics. She got lucky—facial implants were already part of elite enhancement contracts. So they rebuilt her, made her pretty—she picked the look herself. Some say it was a middle finger to fate, others that it offsets her nasty streak. Either way, it’s creepy when that doll face stares you down, hiding someone who’d twist your neck without blinking.”

  Victoria processed it silently, her eyes drifting to where Harrison had disappeared. The image stuck—perfect features, platinum hair, titanium gaze, and hands that knew killing cold. It was absurd, eerie, and… mesmerizing.

  Darina tugged her hand, snapping her out of it.

  “Hey, don’t fall for her, yeah? I’m not jealous of that icebox yet.”

  Victoria chuckled, but something flickered in her eyes Darina didn’t catch—an almost professional curiosity. As an engineer, she couldn’t help but marvel at how tech, surgery, and personal choice fused in one body—like a war machine wrapped in a glossy magazine cover for no damn reason.

  “No jealousy needed,” she said finally, “but damn, that’s impressive.”

  “Exactly,” Darina nodded, sobering. “And that face only smiles when you’ve stopped breathing.”

  Victoria dipped her head, but her gaze lingered a beat longer. A strange feeling stirred—like something bigger had brushed her, a faint click in fate’s gears, subtle but vital.

  A sharp whistle and a palm slap against the doorframe cut through. Both turned. A man, maybe thirty-five, stood in the hatch with an easy smile that instantly diffused the tension. Short, dark chestnut hair, one side shaved—modern but understated. Lean, wiry, with a casual confidence in every move—a pro who didn’t flaunt it.

  “Vasilevich, quit flirting with your girl; our timer’s not elastic,” he said, voice warm and almost friendly, but edged with the steel of someone who could march a platoon through hell and back.

  “Don’t boss me around, Captain. I’ve got… two minutes of leave left,” Darina grimaced, but it was mostly for show.

  Michael smirked and shifted his gaze to Victoria, slipping into a light, familiar tone—like they were old pals, not just acquaintances from a couple tech checks.

  “Holland, say hi to the reactors for me. Don’t blow anything up while we’re gone, alright? We’re not even off the ground, and you’re grabbing a welder?” He was clearly ribbing them.

  “I’ll pass it on. You just make sure your gear doesn’t need fixing again,” Victoria nodded toward his commander, playing along with a grin.

  “Ouch,” Michael spread his hands, his smile widening as he caught her glance at Harrison. “We guard that lady like a stash of top-shelf booze—only for emergencies.”

  He clapped Darina’s shoulder—not a commander’s order, but a buddy’s nudge, the kind born from shared miles and trust.

  “Move your ass. Harrison’s already lining everyone up. If we’re late, she’ll lecture us on discipline… with anatomical details.”

  “On it,” Darina sighed, planting a quick kiss on Victoria’s lips and snagging her jacket off the floor.

  “Come back,” Victoria whispered, clenching her fists to hide the tremor inside.

  Michael lingered a second, squinting at her like he wanted to say more but thought better of it. He just nodded—not patronizing, but with the respect of someone who knew what waiting felt like.

  “Alright, Holland, good luck here. You won’t get bored.”

  “You too,” she smiled back. “Try not to smash the ship, okay?”

  “I’ll gift-wrap it for you if we do,” he winked, vanishing through the hatch, leaving a faint whiff of crisp uniform and metal.

  A minute later, the hatch was sealed. Victoria stood alone on the icy platform, ears buzzing, chest hollow.

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