Elliot walked away, the corner of his lips pulling into a smile.
Formation that morningstarted like any other. They lined up in rows on the frozen parade ground, breath rising in white clouds in the grey morning air, boots crunching on the thin layer of overnight frost. Sergeant Kowalski's hands were clasped behind his back instead of at his sides, his face set, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Elliot's shoulders tensed. He'd seen this before, right before they'd announced evaluation week. Something was coming.
"Listen up," Kowalski barked. "Two weeks. That's what you've got left here. Until Selection ends and you move on to specialized training."
Two weeks. Fourteen days.
Elliot's hands flexed at his sides. He didn't look two spots to his right, didn’t trust himself to keep his expression neutral if he did.
"You've all been evaluated," Kowalski continued. "Your performance, your aptitudes, your strengths and weaknesses. We've made recommendations for your specializations."
Elliot suspected where he was headed: North Carolina. Tactical operations. Ground control. The kind of position that led to command, according to his father.
The question was where Hale would go. HowfarHale would go.
"When I call your name, step forward.” Kowalski consulted the spreadsheet in front of him. “Lieutenant Reed."
Reed moved out of formation and planted himself, solid as ever.
"Infantry. Fort Liberty, North Carolina. Eighty-Second Airborne."
Reed nodded once, face serious. Eighty-Second Airborne—first boots on the ground when everything went sideways.
Kowalski kept going. "Lieutenant Novak. Intelligence analysis. Fort Meade, Maryland."
Novak’s shoulders dropped.
"Lieutenant Briggs. Infantry. Fort Benning, Georgia."
Briggs smirked like he’d won something. Asshole.
More names. More locations. Elliot tracked them—mapping who would be stationed where, building the network in his mind. But his attention kept circling back, waiting for the only assignment that really mattered.
"Lieutenant Hale."
Elliot's breath caught in his throat.
Hale stepped forward, squared shoulders, chin up. But his hands were rigid at his sides, far from relaxed.
"Aviation. Lewis-McChord, Washington."
Washington.
The word landed like a punch to Elliot’s stomach. The West Coast. Approximately 2,800 miles from Fort Liberty. He kept his face blank while his mind ran the numbers.
"Lieutenant Shaw."
Elliot stepped forward, boots crunching on the frost.
"Tactical operations. Fort Liberty, North Carolina."
Confirmation of the assignment he'd expected. Trained for even.
Elliot stepped back into formation. His ears were ringing so loud that he wondered if Hale could hear two spots over.
Two weeks left of Selection. Then there were no more storage rooms. No more excuses for proximity. No more Hale looking at him across a room like they shared a secret—because they wouldn't anymore.
