Before enlisting, Sarah had worked as an emergency medical technician. She recognized trauma when she saw it.
Something about the pattern of Reeves’s scars did not resemble an ordinary accident.
Sarah narrowed her eyes and continued watching.
Rodriguez slapped Marcus across the back.
“Fifty dollars says she does not even appear tomorrow.”
David lifted his phone.
“I am recording the whole thing. This will be hilarious.”
Drill Sergeant Haynes shook his head as Sergeant Ko Tanaka entered the mess hall.
“It is going to be a long eight weeks for that recruit,” Haynes muttered.
Tanaka was a sharp-eyed drill sergeant in her early thirties.
She watched Reeves disappear through the doorway.
“Maybe,” Tanaka said. “Maybe not.”
Haynes glanced at her.
“You see something I do not?”
“Did you notice the way she moved?”
Haynes shrugged.
“She probably watched too many military films before arriving.”
Tanaka continued watching the empty doorway.
A crease formed between her brows.
Something in Reeves’s posture had triggered recognition.
The automatic straightening of the shoulders when attention focused on her.
The measured efficiency of every movement.
The way her eyes had scanned the room in controlled sweeps, quietly cataloging exits, people, and potential threats.
Those behaviors did not come from a short civilian preparation course.
They appeared deeply ingrained.
They had come from somewhere else.
Night settled over the base.
Inside the women’s barracks, Reeves lay on her bunk staring at the ceiling.
The other recruits whispered throughout the room.
She heard her surname repeatedly, followed by speculation and cruel jokes.