CHAPTER 35: NEW BLOOD

Zubair Hossaini didn’t like surprises.

He especially didn’t like the kind of surprise that came in a plain white envelope, hand-delivered by a courier with no name, no insignia, and no intention of answering questions. The man had left it on his desk like it was a takeout menu—then vanished before Zubair could demand anything more than a nod.

The envelope had no seal, just a barcode and a thin strip of red across the top. Country N’s color. Country A’s formatting.

He read it three times.

And then read it again.

The fucker from last night wasn’t wrong. They were being assigned a new team member.

Effective immediately.

Orders came from both Country N and Country A, bypassing the usual clearance protocols. There was no option to appeal. No room for delay. Just a name, a clearance badge, and a short note:

"Recommended for combat cohesion training with KAS. Field-ready. Trusted asset. Must be integrated."

Zubair folded the page once, then again, then once more before tossing it into the bin. He didn’t shred it. He didn’t need to. The words were already carved into his mind like old scars.

He stood and walked out without a word.

----

The four members of the KAS Team gathered in one of the briefing rooms.

It was actually one of the better ones. Located in the basement of the City H Naval base, it was common territory for everyone who served, no matter the branch. One of the walls was nothing but a black glass monitor, flickering with satellite overlays and encrypted mission feeds. The rest of the room was plain: a steel table, six chairs, and the weight of silence.

Lachlan sprawled across two seats with his boots up, flicking a pen between his fingers like it was a coin. Elias leaned against the wall, arms crossed and quiet. Alexei sat backward in a chair, his arms folded across the top rail, spinning slowly from side to side like he didn’t give a damn.

None of them looked surprised when Zubair entered.

But they all sat up a little straighter when the door opened a second time.

Noah strolled in like he belonged there.

Tall, squared shoulders, sharp jawline. Buzzed hair, neat uniform. He didn’t carry the weight of someone new—he carried the arrogance of someone who’d already decided he fit.

"Long time," Noah grinned as he glanced at Lachlan.

Lachlan returned the smile. Bright. Easy. Full of teeth.

But Zubair had spent enough time watching men lie to know when one was faking it.

"Too long, mate," Lachlan said, rising to clasp Noah’s hand with a sharp slap of palms and knuckles. "Didn’t think I’d be seeing your ugly face again."

Noah laughed. "Yeah, well. Guess you’re stuck with me now."

Zubair didn’t move.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t speak.

Noah turned his way, offering a casual salute and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Commander," he said, like they were meeting in a bar instead of a war room. "Name’s Noah O’Connor. Cleared for full integration."

"I read the memo," Zubair replied. His voice was low and measured. "You’ll undergo a week of evaluation. After that, we’ll see."

Noah’s smile faltered just a fraction. "Thought it was already decided."

"It was," Zubair said, flat. "By people who aren’t me. No one tells me who is on my team, I don’t care their rank."

No one spoke after that.

Zubair let the silence stretch until the tension pressed down like a boot on a chest.

Then he turned toward the monitor and tapped a key. A schematic of the base’s combat sim arena appeared—obstacle course, target range, timed survival gauntlet.

"We run this in pairs," Zubair said. "You’ll run it twice. Once with Lachlan. Once with me."

Noah’s gaze flickered to Lachlan, then back to Zubair. "Sounds fair."

"Good."

Zubair didn’t offer him a seat.

------

The first run was clean.

Too clean.

Noah moved like a shadow—fast, precise, controlled. His timing with Lachlan was effortless. They didn’t speak much, but they didn’t need to. One advanced, one covered. One leaped, one flanked. They moved like they’d done this before, and maybe they had.

Zubair watched from the viewing platform above, arms folded.

Beside him, Elias stood in silence, hands in his pockets, watching the screen with narrowed eyes.

"They move well," Elias said.

"They move too well," Zubair muttered.

Below, Noah flipped over a wall, tagged a target with a suppressed pistol, and dropped into cover without missing a step.

It was flawless.

And it was wrong.

Zubair’s team didn’t need perfect. They needed loyal.

When the run ended, Noah turned toward the camera and flashed a thumbs-up like he was on TV.

Lachlan clapped him on the back. The others stayed quiet.

Zubair keyed the mic. "Reset. My turn."

-------

The second run wasn’t flawless.

Zubair made sure of that.

He didn’t adjust to Noah’s pace. He didn’t call positions. He didn’t cover.

He just moved.

Hard. Fast. Brutal.

Halfway through, Noah had to scramble to keep up. He made a few mistakes—small ones, but enough for Zubair to see the seams. He covered it well. Smiled when he fell a step behind. Joked when he misread a signal. But by the end, his uniform was drenched, his breathing uneven.

Zubair didn’t smile.

Back in the briefing room, the team gathered again.

Noah flopped into a chair, grabbing a towel off the back to wipe his face.

"Well," he huffed, "you’re all a real barrel of laughs."

Lachlan grinned, pulling a protein bar from his pocket and tossing it across the table. "You’ll get used to him."

Zubair remained standing.

"Orders were clear," he said. "You’re assigned to us."

"Like it or not," Noah said, raising an eyebrow.

Zubair didn’t flinch. "We’ll start full training rotation tomorrow. 0600. Until then—stay out of the armory. Stay out of my way."

He turned without waiting for a reply.

That night, Zubair sat alone in the equipment room, cleaning his blade.

It wasn’t protocol. It wasn’t necessary. But it was tradition.

The metal gleamed under the dim light as he ran the cloth along the edge, careful and slow.

The door creaked behind him, and a soft footstep followed.

"Permission to enter?" Elias asked quietly.

Zubair didn’t look up. "Granted."

Elias stepped in and shut the door behind him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"He’s good," he said.

"I know."

"But you don’t trust him."

Zubair wiped the cloth once more and set it aside.

"I don’t trust what comes without cost," he said. "We were all thrown together by our individual countries and told to play nice. But I don’t think a single one of us wasn’t given secondary orders. My concern is exactly what secondary orders he has been given when they forced his way in."

Elias was quiet for a long time. Then he pushed off the wall.

"I’ll keep an eye on him."

Zubair finally looked up. "We all will."