Chapter 8
EIGHT
The confidence course sat high above the field, all steel lines and wood platforms silhouetted against the sky. From the ground, it looked manageable. From the base of the tower, it looked endless.
Shannon tightened her gloves and stepped into the staging area with the rest of Lima Squadron. The air smelled like sun-warmed rope and dust. Somewhere below, someone laughed too loudly. No one joined in.
Krueger stood near the equipment racks with the course supervisor, clipboard in hand. He looked relaxed, comfortable, like this was his domain.
Shannon felt it before she saw it. The familiar tightening behind her ribs. The sense that something had already been decided.
“Cadet McKenna,” Krueger said, voice casual. “You’re up first.”
She stepped forward without comment. A second-class cadet fitted her harness, quickly and efficiently. Too quickly. The straps were snug, but something about the tension felt wrong. It felt uneven. She flexed her shoulders, testing it.
“Any issues?” the cadet asked.
“No,” she said.
Krueger watched the exchange, eyes sharp, mouth neutral. “Begin when ready.”
Shannon climbed.
The first platform went smoothly. Then the second. She moved with care, not rushing, placing her weight deliberately. The wind picked up as she climbed higher, tugging at her sleeves, humming through the lines.
She reached for the next handhold and felt the harness shift. Just slightly. Her stomach dropped.
She froze, muscles locking as instinct took over. She tested her weight again. The strap at her left hip slid another inch. Below her, the ground looked very far away.
“Keep moving,” Krueger called up. “You’re holding up the course.”
She adjusted her grip and moved her foot. The harness slipped. Not all the way—just enough. Her balance went, and the world tipped.
For a split second, there was nothing but air and the sound of her own breath leaving her lungs. Then hands caught her—strong, immediate, and certain. The jolt rattled her bones, but she didn’t fall.
“Hold still,” a voice said, low and controlled.
She knew it. Olivo.
He had moved without waiting for clearance, without calling it in, without hesitation. He had arrested her fall with his own weight, anchoring her line manually while another cadre rushed in to secure the secondary tether.
The field had gone silent.
Shannon hung there, heart pounding, fingers numb.
“Lower her,” Olivo said.
She was brought down slowly, carefully. When her boots hit the ground, her knees buckled once before she caught herself.
Medical staff moved in. Questions followed. Checks. Hands on wrists. Light in her eyes.
She was fine. Shaken, not injured.
Krueger approached, expression calm. “Equipment failure. These things happen.”
Olivo looked at the harness. “That strap was improperly set.”
The course supervisor shifted uncomfortably. “It passed inspection.”
“Then your inspection failed,” Olivo replied.
Krueger stepped in smoothly. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. No one was hurt. No need to make this more than it is.”
The supervisor nodded. “We’ll log it as equipment malfunction.”
Olivo looked at him and held the look a second too long. Then he stepped back. The decision had already been made.
That evening, Shannon sat on her bunk with her hands wrapped around a cup of water she wasn’t drinking.
Mia sat across from her, knees pulled up, eyes sharp. “He did that,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“They’re not going to do anything.”
“No.”
Mia shook her head once. “You could have died.”
Shannon stared at the wall. “He wanted me scared. Not gone. Not yet.”
Mia swallowed. “What are you going to do?”
Shannon didn’t answer right away.
Across the bay, Krueger laughed at something another cadet said. It was an easy sound. Relaxed and untouched.
Shannon’s grip tightened on the cup. “I’m going to stop waiting for this to fix itself.”
Mia nodded. “Good.”
Later that night, Olivo stood alone near the edge of the field, staring up at the dark outline of the tower. He had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. He had exposed himself. And it still had not been enough.
When Shannon approached, he didn’t turn. “They wrote it up as failure.”
“I know.”
“He did it on purpose.”
“I know.”
She stood beside him, close enough to feel the tension radiating off his frame. “This won’t stop.”
Olivo finally looked at her. “No,” he agreed. “It won’t.”
Silence settled between them. Then he spoke again, quieter this time. “If he realizes you’re building something he can’t control, he’ll move fast.”
Shannon’s voice was steady. “Then I’ll be ready.”
Olivo thought about her as he watched her walk back to her dorm. She’d run drills like nothing happened, like she hadn’t nearly died.
Like the harness hadn’t failed in the worst possible spot on the highest rope of the tower course. Like she hadn’t dangled in the air until someone caught her.
Until he did.
Dante stood alone at the edge of the field, arms crossed, jacket zipped. From this distance, she looked like the others. Same uniform. Same haircut. Same cadet frame built by stress and sleep deprivation.
But he could see the difference.
She landed harder. Got up faster. Said less. Every time she wiped out on the obstacle course, she reset without flinching.
Her boots were bleeding at the seams. Her bandaged wrists flexed stiffly when she climbed. And still, she didn’t ask for a break. That was what cracked him open. Not the bruises. Not the sabotage. Not even the slow institutional shrug around it.
It was her refusal to become smaller. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t proving a point. She was surviving with something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Conviction.
She could have been a dozen other cadets. But she wasn’t. She saw Krueger. Heard him. Documented him. And still she kept showing up.
Even though no one believed her yet. Even though no one would help. Except him. He hated that he’d waited. That he hadn’t stepped in sooner. That she’d had to save herself at the tower, and only after that, he’d moved.
It should’ve been just another assignment. But now…. Now, if she went down, it wasn’t just about the mission. It wasn’t about Chase Security.
It wasn’t about Meagan McKenna or Mike Johnson. It was about her.
Because somewhere along the way, she stopped being an assignment. And became someone he couldn’t lose.
BASIC CADET TRAINING – DAY 23
The library was empty midday, midweek. The cadets were out on field rotation or gear drills, and the reading room was all cold light and quiet hum. Shannon moved quickly but not nervously, scanning the perimeter for staff or wandering eyes.
Ezra Fielder sat near the back, alone. He had a training manual open, but he wasn’t reading. His eyes flicked to her as she approached, then immediately back to the page. “I can’t,” he said before she even spoke.
“You don’t have to file anything,” she said. “Just talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
Shannon didn’t sit across from him. She sat beside him, just far enough that no one would see it as intimate. Just close enough that her voice didn’t need to carry. “Ezra,” she said softly, “I almost fell off the tower yesterday.”
He looked up, startled. “What?”
“Krueger sabotaged my harness. I felt it shift.”
His jaw clenched.
“They wrote it up as equipment failure,” she said. “They’re going to look the other way again. I’m next.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Ezra didn’t argue.
She took a breath. “You told me he came after you. You said you knew what kind of game this was. You said I wasn’t alone.”
Ezra’s fingers curled into the edge of his book.
“I believe you,” she said. “But if I’m the only one who speaks, they’ll shut it down. I’m just another girl with a vendetta. That’s what they’ll say.”
He closed the book slowly. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”
“You don’t have to,” Shannon said. “Just tell me what he said to you. The words. Exactly how he made you feel.”
Ezra looked down. “He said I was pretty enough not to need grades. He said cadre could help guys like me find the fast lane. That I didn’t need to try so hard to impress the others.”
Shannon didn’t interrupt.
“He came into my room, said he was checking morale. He closed the door, said I’d be out in a week if I didn’t stop acting like I was too good to be coached.”
His voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to say no without it being insubordination. That’s how he phrased it. ‘You want to stay on track? You need to learn how to be coached.’”
Shannon stared straight ahead.
“I think he’s done it before,” Ezra added. “I think he has a routine.” He looked at her, terrified. “I’m not filing anything. Please don’t ask me to.”
“I won’t.” Shannon reached into her pocket, then stopped. She didn’t pull anything out. “I’m not asking you to sign anything. I’m not asking you to go on record. I’m not asking you to name him.”
Ezra watched her carefully.
“I just need to know if I heard it right,” she continued. “If the tone was what I thought it was. If he expected it to keep happening.”
Ezra’s jaw tightened. Then he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want this written down. I don’t want it recorded. I don’t want it repeated.”
“I won’t,” Shannon said immediately.
He looked at her, eyes sharp with panic. “You can’t promise that.”
She didn’t argue.
“That’s why I can’t,” he said. “Because once it exists outside my head, it’s real. And if it’s real, he wins no matter what.”
Shannon felt that settle in her chest. “You’re not weak for being afraid,” she said quietly.
Ezra stood, pushing the chair back just enough to scrape the floor. “You don’t understand. You can fight him. I can’t.” He paused, hands clenched at his sides. “If I say this out loud, I lose everything.” He walked away without looking back.
Dante watched from the far end of the floor. He didn’t move until Ezra was gone. Then he crossed the room slowly and stopped beside Shannon.
She didn’t look up. “I failed.”
“No,” Dante replied. “You survived the attempt.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter if no one will say it.”
“It matters,” he said. “It just doesn’t help yet.”
She finally met his eyes. “He’s going to escalate.”
“Yes,” Dante answered. “Because he knows you’re trying.”
Most cadets looked out for themselves. They kept their heads down, followed orders, avoided becoming a target. But Shannon stood up for Ezra, even when it cost her.
She didn’t try to manipulate the situation or throw weight around.
She didn’t threaten Krueger, even when she had enough to shake him.
Instead, she documented. She acted like someone who still believed the system could be held accountable, even when no one else followed the rules.
And that, more than anything, hit Dante hardest because, once, a long time ago, he’d believed that too.
Dante lay on his bunk and closed his eyes. He hated it—because, in another context, in another world, he would’ve dropped the full weight of command down like a hammer.
Say her name again, and I’ll remove it from your memory the hard way.
But that wasn’t this world. Here, he had to wait. Krueger hadn’t crossed the threshold yet. Not visibly. He buried the urge to move too soon—because of her. She acted like someone who believed in rules even when no one followed them. He was that kind of soldier too.
But deep inside, beneath protocol, beneath training, something sharpened. One day soon, Krueger would slip. And when he did, Olivo wouldn’t just neutralize the threat. He would erase it. What Shannon didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that protecting her was more than an assignment. It was personal.