The folder was thicker than it should have been.
FULCRUM turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight.
Paper. Actual paper.
Someone had printed this on purpose.
The cover read:
INTER-UNIT TRANSFER / ATTACHMENT REVIEW
SUBJECT: FULCRUM, NU-7 "HAMMER DOWN"
PROPOSED: E-11 PROVISIONAL ASSIGNMENT
He opened it.
Maze reports. Tunnel logs. Structural assessments. MedIntel notes from PATCH. An appendix from DOCSTRING on "adaptive risk behavior in high-recurrence breach operatives."
Someone—probably Docstring—had highlighted a section in yellow.
SUBJECT DEMONSTRATES A CONSISTENT PATTERN OF SELF-SACRIFICIAL RISK-SELECTION BEHAVIOR ("CHOOSING THE WALL") THAT HAS DECREASED SLIGHTLY IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS. CROSS-TRAINING WITH E-11 APPEARS TO BE SHIFTING THIS PATTERN TOWARD MORE DISTRIBUTED TEAM-BASED RISK.
He flipped the page.
There was a still from the tunnel feed: him and CATACOMB walking away from the red corridor, the shaft marker blinking behind them.
Someone had written in the margin, in Docstring's tight hand:
IMPORTANT: HE LEFT.
He closed the folder.
"Looks heavy," DUSK said from the doorway.
He hadn't heard her approach.
She leaned against the frame, hands in her pockets.
"It is," he said.
"Paper weighs more when it has your life in it," she said.
"Is that a UIU proverb?" he asked.
"It is now," she said.
He set the folder on his desk.
"Meeting?" he asked.
"Boardroom three," she said. "OWL wants you, ECHO-LEAD, DOCSTRING, and an Ethics observer. Also a surprise guest, which I'm pretending I don't know about."
He looked at her.
"What kind of surprise?" he asked.
"The political kind," she said. "Not the exploding kind. Probably."
Boardroom three had a view.
Most Foundation rooms didn't. Windows were a liability. But this one had thick blast-resistant glass facing a strip of gray sky and the roofs of nearby industrial blocks.
OWL sat at the head of the table, a tablet in front of him, hands folded.
ECHO-LEAD sat on one side, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. DOCSTRING had a stack of notes and a mug that probably contained something alarming.
Opposite them, a woman in an Ethics badge scrolled through a secure slate, expression giving away nothing.
The surprise guest sat near the window.
PRIORESS.
No Alpha-1 insignia on display, just a generic supervisory patch. She might as well have worn a sign that said I am absolutely not ordinary.
"FULCRUM ," Owl said as he entered. "Sit."
FULCRUM did.
The Ethics liaison—CHAIR according to the badge—tapped her slate.
"For the record," Chair said, "this is a review of FULCRUM's suitability for extended attachment and potential transfer to MTF E-11, with due regard for Nu-7 operational needs and subject's psychological projection."
"Psychological projection sounds messy," Dusk murmured over the secure log channel.
FULCRUM kept his face forward.
"We've all read the file," Chair continued. "We've seen the maze footage. The tunnel extraction. The stairwell incident."
He didn't flinch at that.
Docstring did, barely.
"Before we ask questions," Chair said, "we'd like to hear from command and field."
She nodded to Owl.
"Nu-7 command first," she said.
Owl glanced at FULCRUM , then at the others.
"FULCRUM has been with Nu-7 for eight years," Owl said. "His record speaks for itself. High-stress deployments. Minimal hesitation in breach conditions. Occasional insubordination in the service of preventing casualties."
Chair's brows ticked up.
"Occasional?" she asked.
"Occasional for this unit," Owl said.
Echo-Lead's mouth quirked.
"Nu-7 measures insubordination on a different scale," they said.
"Do you consider him essential to Nu-7's current operational profile?" Chair asked.
"Yes," Owl said.
There was no hesitation.
"But," Owl added. "I also consider him a better fit for E-11's long-term needs than our own, if we want him alive in ten years."
DOCSTRING shifted, interest sharpening.
Chair turned to ECHO-LEAD.
"E-11's assessment?" she asked.
ECHO-LEAD folded their hands on the table.
"He adapts fast," ECHO-LEAD said. "Hates dying, even in foam, which is a plus. Picks up spatial doctrine quickly. He still has Nu-7's 'break the building first' reflex, but the maze is sanding that down."
They tapped the tablet.
"Fox consensus is this," ECHO-LEAD said. "We can use him. We also don't want to steal him if it breaks Nu-7's spine."
CHAIR looked at DOCSTRING.
"Psychological perspective?" she asked.
DOCSTRING pushed her glasses up.
"You've read my notes," Docstring said. "Fulcrum's risk selection pattern is shifting. He still defaults to self-endangerment when presented with a structural failure, but the last two major incidents—the 106 wall brace and the warped tunnel—show him accepting help and walking away from the point of maximum danger when ordered by someone he trusts."
DOCSTRING flipped a page.
"The key phrase there is 'someone he trusts,'" she said. "Command. MedIntel. Certain tunnel gremlins."
"Tunnel gremlins," Chair repeated.
"Zeta-9 liaison CATACOMB," Docstring clarified. "She has influence; she uses it to keep him alive, which I appreciate."
Chair made a small note.
"And you, FULCRUM ?" Chair asked, finally turning fully toward him.
He met her gaze.
"Do you want this transfer?" she asked.
He considered the question.
"I want to be where I'm most useful," he said.
"That's not the question," she said.
He exhaled.
"Yes," he said. "I think I fit their doctrine. I think I can help."
"And do you understand the increased mortality risk associated with E-11 assignments?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"You've seen their casualty charts," she said.
"Yes," he said.
"You still want it," she said.
"Yes," he said.
"Why?" she asked.
He paused.
"Because I already work the edge of the knife," he said. "With them, at least the knife is built for what we're doing."
ECHO-LEAD's eyes flickered with something like approval.
Chair turned to PRIORESS.
"And you?" she asked. "Why are you here?"
"Because Alpha-1 has an interest in E-11's stability," PRIORESSsaid. "And in Nu-7's. We prefer our assets not to burn out in preventable ways."
"Do you have an opinion on FULCRUM's disposition?" Chair asked.
Prioress studied him.
"I've watched his footage," she said. "He's reliable. Predictable, in the ways that matter. I'd prefer not to deploy him against certain anomalies until he has more anti-memetic conditioning, but that's a separate conversation."
CHAIR nodded.
"Would you object to his transfer?" Chair asked.
PRIORESS folded her hands.
"I would object to a full, immediate extraction from Nu-7 without a transitional period," she said. "He is a keystone in his current unit's morale structure. You yank him out without warning, you get fractures. You bleed effectiveness while they reorient."
OWL didn't argue.
"So what do you propose?" CHAIR asked.
"Staggered attachment," PRIORESS said. "E-11 primary on paper. Nu-7 secondary. Six months of joint deployments with clear expectations. Rotate him through Fox training, but keep his bunk where it is. Let his team see that he isn't being punished or disappearing. Then reassess."
CHAIR considered.
"That would delay full integration," CHAIR said.
"It would also decrease the chance of him eating a bullet 'accidentally' in a hallway because some Nu-7 element thinks we stole their spine," Dusk said lightly.
CHAIR gave her a long look.
"That was a joke," DUSK said. "Mostly."
FULCRUM remained silent.
CHAIR turned back to him.
"How do you feel about a split posting?" she asked.
"Everywhere and nowhere," he said.
"That's not an answer," she said.
"It feels accurate," he said.
DOCSTRING made a small noise that might have been amusement.
"You'll have expanded access to E-11 facilities and training," CHAIR said. "You'll also be expected to serve as a bridge between units. That's a stressor."
"I already translate between command languages," he said. "One more dialect won't kill me."
"That's not how stress works," DOCSTRING said.
He inclined his head.
"I understand there will be strain," he said. "I still think it's worth it."
CHAIR sat back.
"Mental health support will be mandatory," she said. "You miss more than two sessions in a row, this transfer is suspended. Understood?"
"Yes," he said.
"Effective immediately," she said, "you are provisionally attached to E-11 for a six-month term, primary assignment, with Nu-7 as secondary. After six months, this board will reconvene. Any objections?"
No one spoke.
"Good," CHAIR said. "Meeting adjourned."
Outside the boardroom, the corridor felt narrower.
FULCRUM walked in silence until he hit the junction near the ready bay.
"Hey," DUSK said, falling into step beside him. "You still breathing?"
"Yes," he said.
"Complicated?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Good," she said. "If you said 'fine' I'd have to shove you back in there."
They reached the Nu-7 bay.
The door slid open.
Inside, KESTREL, HARROW, BASTION, RATCHET, WAYPOINT, FUSE, and PATCH were in various stages of pretending they hadn't been hovering.
Conversation died as he stepped in.
He could feel their eyes on him.
"Well?" FUSE asked.
FULCRUM set the folder on a table.
"Provisional attachment," he said. "Six months. E-11 primary, Nu-7 secondary. Shared custody."
"Like a very stupid child," DUSK added.
"Mandatory mental health support," FULCRUM said. "Cross-training continues. Bunk stays here."
PATCH exhaled.
"Good," she said.
KESTREL's shoulders were tight.
"So you're... half gone," she said.
"No," he said. "Half elsewhere. Still here."
"Same thing," HARROW muttered.
"Not exactly," WAYPOINT said quietly.
FUSE shoved his hands into his pockets.
"You tell Catacomb yet?" he asked.
"Not yet," FULCRUM said.
"Want me to send her a form?" PATCH asked.
"I'll talk to her," he said.
KESTREL stepped closer.
"When do they get you?" she asked.
"Training block starts next week," he said. "Field attachments as needed before that."
KESTREL nodded once.
"Okay," she said.
He watched something move behind her eyes.
"Say it," he said.
She grimaced.
"I don't want you to go," she said. "But if you're going anyway, I'd rather you do it with people who actually know what to do with you."
"That's almost a compliment," DUSK said.
"Hush," KESTREL said.
FULCRUM felt the weight of the folder in his peripheral vision.
"I'm not disappearing," he said.
"You'd better not," FUSE said. "I put too much work into making your coffee tolerance a thing of legend."
PATCH snorted.
"Therapy sessions are going to be interesting," she said.
"Docstring already called dibs on half of them," DUSK said.
"Of course she did," FUSE muttered.
He found CATACOMB in the map room.
She stood in front of one of the big screens, hoodie sleeves shoved up, finger tracing a line along a tunnel schematic.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she said without turning.
"Transfer board met," he said.
"I know," she said. "DOCSTRING sent me a redacted summary and three strongly worded emojis."
He blinked.
"Emojis," he repeated.
"She gets weird when she's invested," CATACOMB said.
She turned.
"So?" she asked.
"Six months," he said. "E-11 primary on paper. Nu-7 secondary. Cross-train, shared deployments. Mandatory psych."
CATACOMB nodded slowly.
"Bunk?" she asked.
"Stays here," he said.
She exhaled.
"Good," she said.
She crossed the room and poked him in the chest.
"OWL signed off?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"ECHO-LEAD?"
"Yes," he said.
"Ethics?"
"Yes," he said.
"Do you?" she asked.
He paused.
"Yes," he said.
She searched his face.
"Okay," she said. "Then I'll sign off too."
"That's not how the forms work," he said.
"Emotionally it is," she said.
He huffed a laugh.
She smiled.
"You know this means I'm going to have to redraw some of my maps," she said.
"How?" he asked.
"Traffic patterns," she said. "Less Nu-7, more Fox. Different ways the weight moves through the Site. People follow you, you know."
He frowned.
"They shouldn't," he said.
"They do," she said. "You manage the risk later."
She stepped closer, tilting her head up.
"I'm allowed to be selfish for ten seconds," she said.
"Yes," he said.
She kissed him.
Not quick this time.
Slow. Deliberate.
She tasted like tea and tunnel dust.
When she pulled back, her smile was small and fierce.
"You come back from fox school in one piece," she said. "Or I'm filing so many complaints your inbox will collapse."
"I don't think that's how inboxes work," he said.
"Watch me," she said.
Later, in his room, the folder sat on his desk.
He opened it again.
The still of him and CATACOMB walking away from the red corridor looked different now.
Not because the image had changed.
Because he had.
He ran a thumb over DOCSTRING's note.
IMPORTANT: HE LEFT.
On impulse, he picked up a pen and wrote beneath it, in small, neat letters:
NOT ALONE.
He set the pen down.
On the wall above his bunk, two helmets hung side by side.
Nu-7. E-11.
For now, he still knew which one he'd reach for first.
The weight on his shoulders felt heavier.
But for the first time in a long time, it felt like it was balanced.