He focused on his own lane.Precision over speed.His father had drilled that into him since he was a kid—accuracy first, always. Better to be slow and right than fast and sloppy.
Except Hale was rightandfast.
The realization hit somewhere around the third rotation. Hale wasn't reckless. He was efficient. Taking calculated risks that paid off because he trusted his instincts instead of second-guessing every shot.
Elliot's shoulders tensed. He could shoot faster. He knew that. But faster meant less control, trusting his body instead of his training—all the things his father had spent years teaching himnotto do.
The next target popped up. Elliot breathed, aimed, squeezed?—
Too slow. He knew it before the target even dropped.
Bordel de merde.
On the final drill, he was paired with Hale—notdirectly against him, but running parallel drills. Same scenario, separate lanes.
They stood side by side as the setup was explained. Close enough that Elliot heard Hale’s breathing, sensing the coiled energy coming off him.
Hale bounced on his heels. “Race you,” he murmured, voice low enough only Elliot could hear.
“Are you serious? We’re being evaluated.” Elliot looked straight ahead.
“Yeah. That’s what makes it fun.”
On the signal, Elliot moved. Cleared his lane systematically. Beside him, Hale’s shots cracked in rapid succession—faster pace, but just as controlled.
Elliot finished half a second after Hale.
Half a fucking second.
Hale let out a whoop. “Damn.” He was breathless, grinning. “You almost had me.”
They remained there for a beat, weapons cleared, both panting. Hale’s face was flushed from exertion, sweat running down his temple.
Elliot took a step back. Then another. He needed distance.
Back at the indoor compound they lined up in formation while Master Sergeant Chen addressed them.
“These,” Chen said, gesturing to the board, “are the worst performances I’veeverseen. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
Elliot had heard variations of this speech his entire life.
His eyes focused on the top of the board. Hale’s name, then his. In the wrong place. The difference between them was so fucking small, but that didn’t change anything.
“Listen up,” Chen continued. “Bottom ten. Grab your things. You’re done here.”
Elliot watched as the men stepped out of line. A fewsurprised him, but this was how it worked. They had all known that coming in.
“Everyone else. Hit the showers.”
Elliot waiteduntil the showers cleared out. He wasn't in the mood for small talk or congratulations or whatever.
Half a fucking second.
There was no point in dwelling on it. It wouldn't change the outcome.
Second place was still good. More than enough to stay in the program, more than enough to prove he belonged here. Most people would be satisfied with second place.
But Elliot wasn't most people, and neither was his father.
