The grim reality of the shockingly high death rate became crystal clear. Yet, Lyra remained calm and composed, her face never betraying any emotion, as if she'd already accepted the brutal stakes of being part of the Special Force.
Across the table from her, Hazel sliced into her juicy steak with delicate precision. "Aren't you afraid, Ensign?" Hazel asked, her tone casual, but there was a probing edge to her words.
Lyra barely blinked, her response as composed as ever. "Not really."
Hazel smiled faintly at the vagueness of her answer. "You're well-suited for the Special Force," she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "We don't go on many missions, but next time it'll be Squad No. 5 through 10's turn. We've got to replace the losses from the earlier groups."
Lyra nodded, acknowledging the grim rotation. She finished her meal without another word, her focus inward.
The next day brought a new wave of recruits, eager to take the places of the fallen.
