“I’ve got internal—” she tried again.
“We’re prioritizing active operators,” another voice cut in. “If you’re standing, you’re stable.”
Standing.
Stable.
She almost laughed.
The words felt absurd in the face of the warmth spreading down her hip.
A captain from logistics, helmet under one arm, gestured impatiently. “Conserve advanced kits. Use basics for non-combat attachments.”
Non-combat attachment.
The phrase slid under her skin more cleanly than the shrapnel had.
Nobody saw the subdued insignia stitched inside her vest. Nobody saw the ink beneath her collarbone. Nobody bothered to ask.
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