Rhys Hale adjusted his earpiece as the wind howled over the ridge. The Arctic night was a blanket of black, pierced only by the faint orange glow of the isolated research station below. “Team Bravo in position,” he whispered. “Copy,” came the reply. “You’re green in ninety. No casualties. In, out, vanish.” Standard rules. No errors. No trace. Rhys checked his gear one last time, exhaled into the freezing air, and moved with the unit down the slope. They reached the outer perimeter in silence. The thermal map showed five heat signatures inside—four targets, one unknown. The mission was clear: neutralize the targets. Recover the briefcase. Leave. They breached the eastern wall. The interior was sterile and humming with quiet energy. Flickering fluorescent lights danced across steel walls. Room by room, they swept the station. Two targets down. Rhys pushed through a lab door— And froze. A girl. Mid-20s. No uniform. No weapon. Huddled under a lab table, staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Civilians were not part of this. “Who the hell—” he started, then cut himself off. Behind him, footsteps. His teammate, Cole. “Room clear?” “Yeah,” Rhys lied, stepping forward and sliding the girl behind a storage cabinet with a near-invisible shake of his head. Cole nodded and moved on. Rhys turned to the girl again. She mouthed something. _Help me._ Protocol screamed inside him. This wasn’t the job. She wasn’t the mission. But her wrists were bruised. The equipment around her wasn’t medical — it was experimental. Rhys made his decision. He keyed his mic. “Four targets down. Briefcase located.” “Good,” came Command’s voice. “No other variables?” Rhys hesitated, eyes locking with the girl’s. “…Negative.” He would hide her. He would lie to Command. He would get her out. And in that moment, without fanfare, he shattered the first rule that kept their entire unit alive.