Hudson smiled to himself and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Standing up took more effort than he liked to admit, but he managed it without making any embarrassing noises. Small victories.
Across the room, Shaw was already up.
Of course he was.
Shaw sat on the edge of his bunk, already dressed, posture perfectly straight. Even from behind, he seemed so damn contained. He rolled his shoulders once—the only sign he might be sore.
Hudson stopped staring and focused on getting vertical instead.
“Morning,” Hudson said as he passed Shaw’s bunk five minutes later.
Shaw glanced up and nodded.
That was it. Just a nod. Like they hadn't spent hours together in the freezing dark last night.
Hudson grabbed his gear and headed toward breakfast with everyone else.
He loaded his tray—powdered eggs, toast, mystery meat—and dropped into a seat across from Reed. The smell of burnt coffee stung his nose.
"How was night duty?" Reed asked, wincing as he reached for his cup.
"Almost froze my balls off."
"That bad?"
"Worse."
A few others joined them, conversation jumping between complaints about sore muscles and speculation about what fresh hell today would bring. Someone mentioned seeing the indoor mats being set up, and the energy at the table shifted immediately.
"Evaluation week," Fernandez said around a mouthful of eggs. "Calling it."
Hudson perked up despite his exhaustion. "Finally."
He'd always been good at this part. Give him something concrete to measure himself against and he'd show exactly what he was capable of. Rankings, scores, head-to-head competition—that was his comfort zone.
After breakfast, they marched straight to the converted warehouse masquerading as “indoor facilities.” Concrete floors, concrete walls, the ceiling high enough that sound bounced and died before it reached the top. Rubber mats covered most of the floor in overlapping sections, edges curling at the seams from years of use. A few wooden benches ran along the far wall, already claimed by gear bags and water bottles.
Guys stretched, bounced on their feet, talked just a little too loud. Nervous energy with nowhere to go.
The instructors didn't waste time easing them into it.
"This is evaluation week," Sergeant Barnes said, pacing back and forth. He sounded like he enjoyed delivering bad news. "You will be measured. You will be compared. Every exercise, every drill, every task."
He paused, letting the seriousness sink in.
"You won't even be able to take a shit without someone noting how long it takes."
A few nervous laughs from down the line.
"And you will be ranked."
Sergeant Barnes turned and gestured to a massive board covering most of the back wall. Numbers one through thirty ran down the left side. A thick red line split the bottom ten from the rest. On the right side, blank spaces waited for names.
Up until now they’d all been equals. All there because they were the best.
The attention shifted across the room.
Hudson glanced around, clocking reactions. Fernandez appeared sick—face pale, jaw clenched like he was trying not to throw up. Novak had gone stock-still. Reed just looked determined, shoulders back, ready for anything.
