The low hum of conversation blended with the soft clink of whiskey glasses in Gareth's dining room.

A heavy oak table sat beneath a chandelier that threw warm gold light across scattered poker chips, playing cards, and three half-empty bottles of good liquor. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, dark and quiet, but inside the house, the atmosphere was anything but.

Alistair remarked.

Gareth sat at the head of the table, a king in his own territory.

At fifty-one, he still carried himself with the same commanding presence that had won him four stars on his shoulders. His broad frame almost dwarfed the chair beneath him. Sharp blue eyes studied the cards in his hand. A neatly trimmed layer of gray and white stubble shadowed his jaw. Even off duty, in a crisp white button-up and dark slacks, he looked every bit the general the military trusted with its hardest decisions.

Unfortunately for him, poker wasn't one of them.

Gareth glanced up.

Across from him sat Alistair, impeccably dressed as always. His tailored charcoal suit looked untouched despite hours of drinking. Gray hair framed a face made sharper by the thin round glasses on his nose. His green eyes gleamed with amusement as he sorted a stack of chips with precise, almost irritating neatness.

Gareth replied.

Dax barked out a laugh.

Unlike the other two, he looked as though he'd lost a fight with his own wardrobe before arriving. His black suit jacket hung open, white shirt unbuttoned far enough to show the collarbone beneath. Dark hair fell over his forehead, interrupted by a distinct gray streak near his temple. His well-kept beard did little to hide the grin spreading across his face.

Dax said, tossing two chips into the pot,

Alistair adjusted his glasses.

Gareth pinched the bridge of his nose.

For a man trusted to command thousands of soldiers, negotiate military strategy, and handle international crises, spending an evening with these two was somehow the most tiring part of his week.

The three of them had met in circumstances most people would never understand. Missions, deployments, years spent in places where mistakes had consequences. Somewhere between the danger and the chaos, friendship had formed.

Now they spent their nights arguing over cards and pretending none of them were getting older.

Dax studied the table, then slowly pushed a sizable stack of chips forward.

Gareth narrowed his eyes at once.

Alistair groaned.

Dax asked innocently.

A slow smile spread across Dax's face.

The room erupted in laughter.

For a moment, there were no ranks, no responsibilities, no shadows of old missions hanging over their shoulders.

Just three old friends, a poker game, and a night that seemed bound to stay ordinary.

None of them knew that before the night was over, everything was about to change.