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sociopath.
    “I’ll talk to him,” Scott said, still watching the Texan work. “I’ll call him to my room.”
    Svetlana didn’t reply audibly. She simply smiled, reached out, and squeezed his hand—her way of telling him she approved. Together and without another word, they joined the Fourteenth for prep-down.
    * * *
    TWENTY MINUTES LATER
    W ILLIAM HUMMED blissfully beneath a blast of steaming shower spray. The massive demolitionist was among the first to claim a curtained stall, as he typically was. Grabbing his shampoo-bottle-turned-microphone and bristling back his wet crew cut, he closed his eyes and belted a falsetto. “And I took the devil for a riiiiide !”
    “Hey Willie?” Becan asked as the curtain behind William was tugged open.
    The demolitionist blinked and turned around. “Huh—?”
    Poof! A white cloud erupted as flour pelted William’s face. Hacking frantically, the southerner stumbled and wiped his eyes. “ Veck it, man! Again ?” A chorus of laugher erupted outside.
    Such juvenile post-mission antics were normal in Room 14, particularly after missions as successful as that day’s—and shower pranks led the way. William’s flour facial was only the latest instance. The previous week, Esther had hopped in only to discover, seconds too late, that her entire bottle of conditioner had been replaced with ranch dressing. Wisely, the culprit was yet to step forward.
    By far the most daring display of tomfoolery had come against Max, who’d once finished a shower to discover that the entire room had been emptied of people, and more importantly, clothing. Even the bed sheets had been removed. The sole article of anything left behind had been a single piece of white lingerie. “Coincidentally,” a call had been placed to Tanneken Brunner moments earlier asking her to rush to Room 14 as quickly as possible. Needless to say, she was more amused by what she found than Max was that she’d found it.
    Only a few of the Fourteenth had escaped the pranks thus far: Scott, Dostoevsky, and the slayers chief among them. That Svetlana had managed to avoid them was more notable, if for no other reason, because she had a habit of reminding Scott about it whenever they discussed unit behavior during her medical reports. “I am above that,” she always said. Only Esther seemed to care that the medic had stayed clean.
    Drying her hair at the side of her bunk, Svetlana smiled as a shirtless Max approached. The lieutenant-technician tossed down his towel and pulled a white t-shirt over his head. “I saw what Flopper did today,” Svetlana said, clicking her tongue to draw the playful pooch close. “He is becoming good little soldier.”
    “I think he thinks missions are a game,” said Max. “Chase the guy in the purple suit. Sit, Flop.” The dog obeyed, perking its ears. “Good boy.” Quiet fell between them before Max finally sighed. “I know it’s only been a couple of missions, but we need to talk about Jay.”
    Running her hand through her hair, Svetlana eyed the Texan from afar. “I know. I told that to Scott in the hangar. He is too weak to be fighting right now.”
    “It’s not even that. It’s like he’s dead, Sveta.”
    “Who’s dead?” Derrick asked, approaching the two. Travis and Boris followed behind him.
    “The Bakma are dead. Go mind your own business.”
    Svetlana eyed Max with disapproval, then turned to the newcomers. “We are talking about Jayden.”
    Derrick frowned heavily.
    “We are just concerned. I am sure things will get better in time.” Her voice was weighted with forced optimism.
    “You know what’d make me feel better?” asked Max. “Wrapping my hands around Viktor’s neck.” He watched Viktor and Varvara across the room. The couple was in the midst of a hushed conversation. “I wouldn’t mind turning Varya a shade of blue, too.”
    Svetlana hit him. “Do not say that.”
    “You’re gonna defend the girl?”
    “Be mad at her, that is fine. I am mad at