After breakfast and a bit of winding down with the group chat, we went straight to training. Except for Claire, who wasn’t scheduled with the team today.

  At first, I thought it’d be one of those long endurance sessions with repetitive drills, but as soon as we reached the field, a structure was waiting for us. They’d set up a new obstacle course—wooden structures, marked zones on the ground, sensors on the walls. None of it had been there yesterday. Someone had decided to make our morning harder.

  That someone was Donal, of course. He was standing off to the side, hands behind his back, watching everything with the same expression he used to give orders or correct your salute posture. Impeccable, as always. He didn’t even seem to sweat.

  “Are we being evaluated or tortured?” Owen asked as he adjusted the bandage on his wrist.

  “What’s the difference?” I replied, still eyeing the course. It was big. It was going to be exhausting.

  We only had the base uniform on, without the full combat gear. For this type of exercise, when there’s wood or rough surfaces, our hands get bandaged. If it were a more intense course, we’d wear the defensive suit gloves—thick but flexible, with that wrist-mounted system that releases a metallic wire. We use it to launch ourselves in vertical movements or long jumps. The wire fires out from the forearm and anchors to solid structures. It supports our weight and more. Without the gloves, it’d be impossible—friction burns would take you out for weeks.

  Azrak was further ahead, standing with his arms crossed, silent. He wasn’t moving, but he had that way of always being on alert. You could tell he’d already mapped out a mental plan of where to enter, exit, and how much effort it would cost. Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t really with us—but it wasn’t that. He was aware of everything.

  They split us into groups. Anya got paired with Azrak. I got Owen. Two per side, Donal said, without even looking at us when assigning.

  “He never repeats combos,” Owen muttered as we strapped on the sensors to our arms. “He’s probably got a spreadsheet in his head.”

  I laughed—partly because he was right, and partly because I preferred that to thinking about the jumps ahead.

  Donal stepped toward the center and spoke out loud, not raising his voice, but we all heard him clearly:

  “This is not an individual trial. I’m evaluating how you adapt. Coordination, awareness, ability to cover each other. If anyone gets injured, they’re out.”

  Silence. Even Owen stood still.

  The whistle blew. It wasn’t necessary, but Donal always used it—just to make it clear that from that moment on, everything counted.

  Owen and I took off side by side. To our right, the other pairs did the same. There were at least eight teams that morning, all with bandaged hands, all with the same goal: complete the course as fast and clean as possible. No one had said anything about winning, but we all knew the one who stood out would be noticed.

  The first meters were for warm-up: wooden blocks in a row, jumps without losing rhythm, a red-marked zone that penalized you if you stepped on it. I took the lead, and Owen adapted quickly.

  “Left,” I shouted, and he didn’t hesitate. He slid under a low bar and rolled through smoothly.

  “Did you know we used to do this in school? But with ropes and a whistle that spat saliva?”

  “You finished school?”

  “Sort of.”

  I ignored him. We were already catching up to another pair who had started stronger. We climbed a short wall using only our hands, no legs. I felt the bandages strain against the rough wood. My forearms burned, but I made it to the top without help. Owen climbed up beside me, panting.

  On the other side, I saw Azrak and Anya on a hanging platform. They were in sync, moving evenly. He wasn’t just charging ahead like he sometimes did. He was adjusting to Anya’s pace without giving up ground.

  We dropped into the next section—this was the tough part: a stretch of parallel bars requiring arm strength, followed by a narrow tunnel that nearly suffocated you.

  We went through without speaking. By then, your body moved on its own.

  And then, the wall.

  With full gear, we would’ve used the uniform gloves. The wire would’ve shot out from the wrist, straight to the top, and we’d be up in seconds. But today was bare hands. No assistance. No room for mistakes.

  “I’ll go first,” I told Owen. He stepped aside without arguing.

  I ran, jammed my foot into a crevice, and climbed with everything I had. My body lifted completely off the structure for a second before my hands caught the edge. I hung on, kicked, and pulled myself up.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Azrak doing the same.

  Anya and Owen came up seconds later. He helped Anya up. I offered Owen my hand—he took it without trying to be a hero.

  We reached the top almost at the same time. The four of us. And from up there, we watched the rest still struggling in the middle sections.

  “I can honestly say I can’t feel my legs,” Owen said, lying on his back.

  “You don’t need to say it,” I replied, though with a smile. My whole body was burning.

  Azrak was crouched down, breathing steadily, looking toward where the others were coming from. He didn’t speak. But he didn’t leave either.

  We were all standing, hands on our knees, breathing hard. Donal didn’t give us a second of rest. He stood in front of us, watching every movement, every breath. There was no excitement in his eyes, only the constant assessment of what we had just done.

  “Good,” he began, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “You all completed the circuit. That’s what I expected. But I don’t want to hear congratulations for doing the bare minimum.”

  The tension rose instantly. We knew the hard part was coming.

  “Azrak…” he started, not taking his eyes off him, “your ability to move quickly is impressive, but I saw you getting too comfortable in some sections. You didn’t stop moving, but you weren’t pushing to the limit. And in this type of training, if you’re not at 100% the entire time, you’re not really training—you’re just going through the motions. You need to take your agility further.”

  Azrak barely gave a small nod. He didn’t like being questioned, but he knew Donal was right.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Anya, I won’t lie—your response to obstacles is nearly perfect. But what happens when it’s not about dodging? I watched you jump in without thinking about the angle, and that, while it didn’t cost you today, could be a problem in real combat. You need to start making quicker decisions. Every second matters.”

  Anya nodded more seriously. She knew Donal didn’t speak lightly.

  Then Donal moved on to Owen, and his expression hardened even more.

  “Owen, there’s no doubt about your strength. But pace is one thing—mental endurance is another. At certain points, I saw you slow down, as if you were saving energy for what was next. That’s fine in some situations, but not here. You can’t afford to drop your pace mid-difficulty. You lose focus, and with it, the entire training loses effectiveness.”

  Owen didn’t answer right away, but his eyes grew more determined. He knew he could do better.

  Finally, Donal turned to me.

  “Franca…” he said, and my stomach flipped. “Don’t get me wrong. Your movements are solid, but today I saw you holding back. It’s not just about getting there—it’s about getting there with maximum efficiency. I saw you conserving energy, and if you really want to be at the top level, you have to learn not to fear going beyond. When you think you’ve got nothing left, push a little more.”

  I stayed silent. I knew Donal was right, but I also appreciated it. He was pushing me higher.

  Donal paused, looking at all of us.

  “You’re here for a reason: you’re good—but that’s not enough. Potential means nothing if you’re not willing to push it. This circuit was easy for you, I know. But next time, it’ll be tougher. Don’t come here to get by. Come to surpass yourselves—or give your place to someone who will.”

  His tone grew even more challenging.

  “If you really want to be the best, you’ll have to work much harder. No one’s going to hand anything to you. And if you think you’ve hit your limit, think again. Because if you keep playing around with the bare minimum, you’ll soon find yourselves at the back of the line.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then, as expected, Owen broke the tension.

  “Great. Any other comments, or do we move on?”

  Donal looked at him, a flicker of approval in his gaze.

  “Recovery. Then, if you’re feeling so confident, you can try the challenge I’ve prepared. But don’t come with excuses if you can’t finish it. This is the kind of training that separates the good from the best.”

  We exchanged looks. We knew what was coming wouldn’t be easy—but that’s what motivated us. No one here was content with what we already knew how to do. We wanted more.

  After the long training, I went to my room. It was time to shower, and the others did the same, the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallways of the complex. Sweat was still running down my forehead, and even though I was exhausted, I knew recovery was key. I didn’t have to train Giovanni today, which was a relief. Apparently, from what I’d discussed with Donal, I’d start next week. So I had at least a week free before starting double shifts to train the kid.

  One week, I thought. While I liked the idea of a break, I also knew it wouldn’t be easy. Double shifts weren’t exactly relaxing, and adjusting my training rhythm to fit the kid would be a challenge. But I also knew that in the end, every minute of effort brought me closer to my goals. At least I had that time to prepare.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror as I took off my uniform, trying not to think too much about what was coming. Every day was a new test, but always with my eyes on what needed to be done.

  —

  After the shower, all I wanted was to fall into bed. Training had drained all my energy, and I felt every muscle tense, on the verge of cramping. I had already turned off the lights when I heard a soft knock on the door.

  “Franca,” it was Anya’s voice, quiet but clear. “Are you coming?”

  I sat on the bed, hair still damp. It took me a few seconds to understand what she meant.

  “Where?”

  “The underground bar. Almost everyone’s going. It’s not going to be crazy, just a round or two. Come on, before they start closing the entrance.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t really in the mood, but something in her tone—that mix of invitation and camaraderie—made me hesitate.

  “Give me five,” I replied.

  The underground bar was an open secret. It was located right beneath the main training platform, originally built for logistical functions, but eventually repurposed for this unofficial use. It didn’t appear on any institutional map or report, but we all knew it was there. It was part of the military ecosystem: a space to unwind, relax, and just breathe away from training.

  It only opened at certain times, when the superiors weren’t on duty or weren’t at the base. It was clear: no cadets allowed, and certainly no minors. Only those of us who had crossed a certain experience threshold had access—and even then, always discreetly.

  We went down a side corridor to an unmarked, dark metal door. The spiral staircase was slightly rusted, and the air began to change as we descended. The first thing you noticed upon arriving was the light: no fluorescent tubes or white screens. Just hanging lamps, warm amber light, barely enough to see. The place was a mix of makeshift and charming: unfinished concrete walls, recycled metal tables, mismatched benches—but every corner had something that made it feel intimate.

  Old music played in one corner, the kind no one remembers how it got there, and at the back, the makeshift bar had a short row of bottles lined up. It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours.

  Owen was already sitting with a drink in hand, chatting with two soldiers from another group. Anya walked straight over to him, and I lingered for a second, observing. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to be there… but at the same time, I didn’t mind. I knew I wouldn’t drink alcohol, but something about the relaxed atmosphere drew me in.

  Soon after, Claire entered with two soldiers. I recognized them: Nick and Damián, part of another team, but close to our group. Nick with his usual confident expression, and Damián, always quieter, with an analytical gaze.

  Anya and Owen greeted them with a smile, while I made my way to the back of the bar. Even though I wasn’t drinking, the company and atmosphere were comfortable enough to stay for a while. I settled into a quiet corner, dimly lit by a hanging lamp with warm light. The water glass in my hand still had a few cold drops sliding down the edge. From there, I could see Owen doing his usual performance, Anya and Claire laughing at something Nick said, and Damián… well, being Damián—serious even when the vibe was anything but.

  I was just about to sink into that kind of cozy pause when I saw them come in.

  Donal was the first to appear, walking like he owned the place, even if technically he didn’t. Azrak was next to him, more relaxed, hands in his pockets, gaze calmly scanning the room. Kika brought up the rear, wearing a light brown jacket and that confident stride she had even without a uniform. It was clear they’d just come from work, different from the rest of us, who were already a bit unraveled. More human.

  “Look who showed up,” Owen said, raising his voice slightly as Donal and the others approached. “The responsible adults.”

  “You spying on us from that corner or just not into people?” Donal shot, looking at me directly. He didn’t move closer, but the comment traveled across the bar as if he had.

  “A bit of both,” I replied without moving, raising my glass in his direction with a half-smile.

  “So warm, as always,” he added, amused.

  Azrak barely turned his head toward me. He held my gaze and then gave a slight nod, almost a smile. It didn’t take more than that. That simple gesture threw me off for a second. Not uncomfortable, but… hard to define.

  “You know what it is, Donal?” Owen said, leaning back in his chair. “Franca only gets social when we’re in mortal danger. In normal situations, she’s a complete mystery.”

  “I like to keep the standard,” I chimed in.

  “A reasonable logic,” said Kika, settling naturally into one of the chairs. She crossed her legs with elegance and let her hair down as if she’d just walked off a runway instead of a workday.

  “And you, Kika?” Nick asked, curious. “Here to relax or check on the troops?”

  “A bit of both,” she replied, with the same irony I had used earlier. “Though honestly, I’d rather be here than hear one more person say ‘I can’t feel my legs’ after warm-up.”

  “Luckily, I’m not one of those,” Damián said, raising his hands.

  “Lucky for you,” Kika finished.

  The group laughed, relaxed. Some laughs were louder, others just slipped through noses, but in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

  I leaned back against the wall. That was enough. From there, I was good.

  Azrak walked past me on his way to the bar. He tilted his head slightly and nodded toward my glass.

  “Nothing strong?”

  I shook my head.

  “Never. Not a drop.”

  “Good,” he said. “Someone’s got to keep their memory intact.”

  “And store other people’s secrets while they’re at it,” I added.

  He smiled faintly and kept walking.

  I leaned my back against the wall again as the group continued chatting in that low tone, full of short laughs and unfiltered comments.

  Azrak came back with a glass in hand and stayed nearby, not saying anything at first. He sat beside me, just enough to be part of the group, not enough to make it feel planned.

  “What’d you get?” Claire asked, craning her neck to see the glass.

  “Water,” he replied, like it was the obvious choice.

  “Look how responsible,” Nick said. “I’d be on my third round if it weren’t for tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow won’t matter much if we sleep too little anyway,” Anya added. “Donal’s sure to make us run like it’s basic training.”

  “It’s his way of showing affection,” Owen said, spinning his glass on the table.

  “You don’t complain so much when you finish the circuit with good times,” Donal said, who had stayed more in the background until then. “But sure, go ahead and blame me. I don’t mind.”

  “Are you giving us official permission to complain about you?” I asked, not moving much.

  “You always had it,” he replied, toasting the air with his empty glass.

  The conversation continued, with Owen telling a story that he was clearly exaggerating. Claire interrupted halfway with details that didn’t match, and Nick backed him up just for fun. Kika watched everything with a barely-there smile as she played with the rim of her glass. Anya rested her chin on one hand like she already knew how the story would end.

  Azrak didn’t say much, but when he did, it was just right. A short comment that made Claire laugh or a quick comeback to Nick that cut the joke at the perfect moment.

  I listened, half-in, half-out. That was enough.

  At some point, while Owen was lost in a drawn-out description of a mission we all knew, Azrak murmured, barely audible, just for me:

  “That’s not how it happened.”

  “I know,” I said, without looking at him, with a smile that didn’t need to be seen.

  And we kept listening.