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“Leandro Sanchez.”
Sweat prickled at the back of his neck, his spine ramrod straight.
“Yes, sir.”
His throat clicked dryly. He kept his eyes forward, but the air felt suffocating.
“Fifteen.” The lieutenant paced to the right.
“Sir, I didn’t—”
“FIFTEEN.” His voice cracked like a whip as he turned and paced back. Leandro’s fingers twitched behind his back.
“That’s the number of times I’ve heard about this issue from my superiors.”
Leandro blinked. “You… kept count—?”
A glare silenced him.
The lieutenant stopped pacing, came to a halt before him, then retreated behind the heavy desk. He set down his cap, leaning forward.
“Son, listen to me.” His voice softened, but the weight in it only deepened. “I can’t afford one more screw-up on your part.”
Leandro’s chest tightened. “Sir, they were the ones who instigated—”
A raised palm cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter who started it. Were you involved—yes or no?”
Leandro shifted, boots scuffing the floor. Silence stretched.
The lieutenant leaned closer, forearms on the table. “I can’t do this without your cooperation, kid. You know I’m on your side.”
“…Yes, sir. I was involved.”
The officer nodded slowly. “What exactly happened?”
“Private Denver.” The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
“He’s the one who threw the first punch.” The lieutenant leaned back, a low curse slipping out.
“I was just defending Miss Layla, sir! Denver wouldn’t back off — when he reached for her I stepped between them.” Leandro grimaced as memory flared. “It just… snowballed.”
The lieutenant opened a drawer, unfolded a crisp note, and put on a pair of glasses. Leandro felt the blood drain from his face.
“Bruises to the face, upper chest, and a concussion.” Leandro stared at the floor.
“That’s one hell of a snowball,” the lieutenant said.
“Leandro, how do you keep ending up in this shit?” Leandro shrugged helplessly, causing a huff of laughter from the lieutenant, before his expression turned grim once more. “Do you know who that private is?”
“Other than a piece of—no clue,” Leandro muttered.
“Jollene Denvers.”
“Oh—*fuck*.”
“Oh ‘fuck’ is right.” The lieutenant removed his glasses and pinned Leandro with a hard stare. “You went to town on one of the General’s children. There are going to be consequences for this, kid. Ones even I can’t exempt you from.”
Tense silence followed. Leandro waited with bated breath. *It’s not going to be too bad, right? I mean, no one was sent to the ICU and I wasn’t even the one to start it and the reason is completely justifiable—*
“You won’t be getting into the Frontier Genus next month.”
W H A T.
“Sir! This was a single fight, I promise I won’t do it again, I’ll apologise and—”
“No can do, private. That department is under General Fidux’s jurisdiction. Jollene has an incredibly influential position over there. She’d find a way to get you fired permanently.”
Leandro’s sight grew blurry, fighting the urge to rub his eyes. Looking at the lieutenant’s face seemed downright impossible right now.
The rest of his words seemed muted, Leandro nodding along numbly. *Apologies* — that much he could make out. And although he wanted to tell him to shove those apologies back where they came from, it wasn’t his fault. Just Leandro’s inability to leave things alone.
“You may leave, private. I’ll try to somehow get you into a similar department.” Leandro didn’t bother to reply. He just nodded and left the room, the door swinging shut behind him with more force than necessary.
Nine years. That’s how long he’d worked toward this role. To work in the Frontier Genus, dimensional control *extrordinaire*. And this is what caused him to lose it? A little untimely righteousness?
His cheeks were wet now, head held low, footsteps carrying him methodically to his room. And the worst part? He’d do it all over again.