Ryan's first move as acting lead? Straight to my station.

He tapped my desk, chin tipped up. "Lieutenant Chadwick, per regs, all specialized gear in your locker gets turned in during your suspension. Here's the key. Empty it. Now."

No effort to hide the contempt.

I said nothing. Opened the locker. Set out my tweaked tweezers, custom cutters, mini scope—one by one.

He looked pleased. "From now on, we stick to standard procedures. Those 'homemade' toys? Obsolete."

I looked up. "Quick question. You hit a bomb—epoxy packed with steel beads, strapped to an artery. The manual says use solvent. That solvent burns skin, causes secondary damage. What do you do?"

Ryan's face locked up. He stumbled. "Then... w-we follow the manual. Strictly. It's been verified over and over. It's the most scientific approach."

No flexibility. Just parroting regs.

I flashed back—years ago. My mentor, Clark Wayne, the Army's 'Master Defuser'. He'd clapped my shoulder. "Kid, rules are dead. People are alive. I care about how you think outside the box."

Now? I just sighed.

I started coasting.

A few days later, a bank flagged a standard "Thunderbolt" timer bomb. I got stuck on logistics.

Scene photos came in. I opened my laptop, pulled the standard Thunderbolt breakdown, and sent it over.

One of the senior techs called, voice tight. "Cole, isn't there a trap in the B2 circuit? Thought you mentioned it."

I answered flat. "Per the manual, B2's a standard fuse line. No special notes. Follow procedure."

I hung up.

That day, for the first time, I walked out the second my shift was over.

I skipped the workshop—no bomb study. Hit the range instead and burned through five full mags.

Meanwhile, Ryan rolled out this ridiculous "equipment verification checklist" in Alpha Squad.

Thirty-plus pages. Two people had to cross-check everything three times before and after every mission, then sign off on it all.

That process alone tacked on fifteen extra minutes before every deployment.

The frustration stayed quiet—but it spread.

"Is Lieutenant Cocke serious? By the time he finishes that checklist, the hostages are already gone."

"Last time at the chemical plant, he stuck to procedure. We showed up five minutes late—almost blew the whole thing."

"All theory, zero field sense. Guy doesn't know a damn thing about real ops."

Some of the longtime guys came to me on the low, looking for answers.

I just poured one a glass of water. "Lieutenant Cocke's acting lead. We follow his orders. Everything by the book."

With me checked out and Ryan stacking bad calls, the squad's response time—and win rate—took a hit.

Jobs that used to be easy? Now they were borderline disasters.

I knew what they were waiting for—a real crisis to prove themselves.

I dropped a long-overdue leave request on Jacob's desk.

Thirty days. Full.

The second he saw it, his face darkened. "Cole Chadwick, what is this?"

He snapped the paper at my face. It clipped my cheek—sharp sting.

"The unit's short on manpower. You're asking for this much time off—what, trying to defy me?"

His voice dropped, sharp with threat. "You're not fooling anyone. This is a tantrum. You think this pressures the unit?"

He leaned in. "Let me be real clear—the world doesn't stop for you."

I said nothing. Just pulled a document from my pocket—the unit-approved Post–High-Risk Operation Psychological Evaluation Report.

I laid it out in front of him, tapped the last line. "Captain, it recommends rest and counseling. This leave request's fully compliant."

Jacob's face went tight, color draining. He shot me a look—but had nothing to say.

Finally, he scoffed, grabbed a pen, and slashed his signature across the form.

I turned to leave—then the door swung open.

My wife, Dana, walked in, hooked onto Ryan's arm, smiling.

She spotted me, voice dripping sarcasm. "Wow, look who it is—our big hero, Cole Chadwick. What, running off after one little setback? With nerves like that, how are you supposed to protect anyone?"

Ryan smirked. "Dana, you wouldn't get it. Some people? They're not exactly built for pressure. Not like us—we've had real training. We stay solid when it counts."

I didn't even look at them. Just kept walking.

At the end of the hall, a new guy—Kenny—jogged up and shoved a water bottle into my hand.

"Lieutenant Chadwick... there's something I probably shouldn't say." He hesitated. "That girl you saved? I heard she's the only daughter of Titan Microtech's chairman.

"Her family pulled every string trying to find you, even offered a big reward—but Captain Todd and Lieutenant Cocke buried it."

I gave a small nod.

That reward was never theirs to take.

I caught a bus out toward Northlake Reservoir, way past the edge of the city.

We'd barely cleared downtown when my unit comm started blaring.

Jacob's voice came through, all static and urgency. "Emergency! Major explosive threat at Worldgate Mall, city center! Multiple hostages! All personnel on leave, report back immediately!"

I shut it off. No hesitation.

Seconds later, my phone rang. Jacob.

"Cole! Get your ass back here—now!"

I kept my voice even. "Captain, one—I'm on approved leave. Two—per regs, suspended personnel aren't allowed at Class-A scenes."

I hung up.

I'd just set up my fishing rod by the reservoir when Dana called.

The second I picked up, she lost it. Full-on sobbing.

"Cole! Please, come back! My mom—she's at Worldgate Mall! They strapped a bomb to her!"

My chest dropped.

"Hey—don't panic. Slow down. What happened?"

"It's her birthday. We were supposed to have dinner there! Then they rushed in and took her! Cole, you have to save her! Aren't you the best bomb tech?"

Sirens screamed through the line. People yelling in the background.

***

Third-Person POV

At the temporary command post downtown, the pressure in the air felt crushing.

Jacob stared at the bomb schematic on the screen, his face drained.

He'd never seen anything like it—some twisted, linked explosive. The red timer kept ticking, cold and steady.

Ryan stood next to him, gripping a tablet, sweat dripping down his forehead. His "standard procedures" were a total joke now.

Trying to dodge the blame, Jacob angled toward the commander.

"This setup's way off-book. Lieutenant Cole Chadwick's handled weird devices before. Maybe... Though, he works solo, keeps things to himself, doesn't exactly file reports—"

He didn't get to finish.

An urgent report cut him off.

"Commander Rowan! A second linked bomb just got found in the mall's central ventilation! It's synced with the one on the hostage!"

Everyone froze, breath catching.

Disable one, the other blows.

Ryan stepped up fast, eyes locked in. "I've got it. I'll use standard procedure to jam the secondary bomb's signal."

Ignoring the longtime guys' warnings, he jumped in anyway—reckless, confident.

Then it blew up in his face.

He tripped a trap the bomber had planted.

The main bomb's timer jumped. The countdown sped up—twice as fast.

Ryan went pale.

Silence swallowed the command post.

Then a young tech snapped his fingers. "Wait—I remember. Lieutenant Chadwick built something called the Phantom. It cuts complex signal links—like, straight up severs the logic between devices. It's in the equipment truck!"

Their last shot.

Ryan grabbed it and bolted to the truck, yanking out a silver case.

No hesitation. No guidance.

He activated the Phantom himself. "These interfaces don't match the latest standards. The frequency should be set here."

He punched in what he thought was the "right" frequency.

Zzzzt...

Smoke curled out of the case. The core chip fried instantly.

Their last shot—gone.

Time was almost up. The link was still live. The only tool they had was wrecked.

The command post dropped into full-on despair.

Commander Rowan didn't hesitate. He grabbed a secure line and called the district's top bomb expert—the "Master Defuser," Clark Wayne—for remote guidance.

The call connected. They ran it down fast.

Clark stayed quiet for a beat.

"With standard methods, the hostage dies. No question. The technique to break that trigger chain—I taught it to one person. He should be in your unit."

A pause.

"Cole Chadwick."