Chapter 6 #2
No one complains of modesty when our suits are stripped off by female crew members. Toweled vigorously, helped back into dry clothes. I pull the wool hat down over my ears as the woman helping me wraps a wool blanket around my shoulders, then mylar over that.
"Hold still." A crew member presses a thermometer to my ear. Blood pressure cuff. Hands checking my pulse. "Core temp is 35.2. Mild hypothermia. You'll be fine. How do you feel?"
"Cold." The word comes out through chattering teeth.
"That's normal. Drink this." Tea. Way too sweet. I can barely hold the cup but I drink.
We emerge from behind the screen. I lower myself onto a crate near the shore, both hands wrapped around the cup.
I take one swallow and my fingers betray me.
The cup slips—clinks against my knee—and tips, hot tea splashing over my wrapped legs.
"Shit." It comes out soft. I don't even have the energy for a proper curse.
I fumble for it with hands that don't want to work.
A shadow crosses my peripheral vision. Someone steps in close.
The cup is upright again before I can grab it, his hand closing over mine for just a second to steady it. Not protective. Not gentle. Just certain.
His fingers brush mine as he releases it. Not intentional. Not lingering.
His skin is still cold. Colder than it should be.
He turns the handle toward my numb fingers and sets the cup carefully on the crate beside my hip, like it was always meant to be there.
No comment. No eye contact. Just the quiet economy of a body that knows how to move without wasting anything.
He doesn’t react.
I do.
I glance up and Sulla is already stepping away, face blank, gaze fixed somewhere past me as if he was never here at all.
My throat tightens—not with emotion, not with gratitude. I don’t think my mind is fully back online.
I wrap both hands around the cup again, more careful this time. The warmth feels… earned. It hits my stomach and my body reacts. More shivering, more violent. Trying to distribute the heat.
I sit wrapped in blankets, watching the rest of the groups finish. The camera crews are everywhere, capturing reactions, suffering, and triumph.
Blake complains loudly through his entire thirty minutes but finishes.
Zay is stoic, barely moving. Aiden makes it but looks wrecked after—a crew member helps him pull off his prosthetic immediately and wraps his residual limb in dry towels.
Jacks is calm throughout, eyes closed like he’s meditating through the whole thing.
By the time all groups have finished, we’ve lost three more contestants. Two quit—couldn’t handle it mentally, tapped out before the thirty minutes were complete. One medical pull for early-stage hypothermia.
When everyone is out and being checked by medical, Mac addresses us.
“Congratulations. You’ve just survived one of the hardest psychological tests we’ll throw at you. Cold water can kill you—panic kills you faster. You controlled your minds today. Well done.”
He dismisses us to change back into tactical gear and return to camp.
I’m still shivering as I dress. My fingers are clumsy, uncooperative. But I manage.
On the men’s side, I can hear low conversations. Someone congratulating someone else. Blake still complaining.
The transport back to camp is quiet. Everyone is still wrapped in wool blankets and space blankets, exhausted, processing what they just endured.
I stare out the window at the gray landscape and think about control. About the difference between panic and discipline. About the fact that I just spent thirty minutes in fifty-two-degree water because I need money for my father’s care.
This is what desperation looks like.
But I made it. I’m still here.
That night, after we’ve eaten and changed and had mandatory additional medical checks, I’m sitting outside the barracks tent. Most people are inside already, trying to warm up and rest.
Mac walks past, does a double-take when he sees me.
“Major Donahue. You should be inside warming up.”
“I’m fine, Sergeant Major.”
He studies me. “That was good work today. Not everyone can control their mind under that kind of stress.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Major.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “You’ve done this before. SERE training?”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.”
“It shows.” He nods once. “Keep your head on straight. You’ll go far in this.”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.”
He leaves. I sit in the cold for a few more minutes, letting the reality settle.
There is movement near the far edge of camp. Someone walking alone in the dark. The build, the gait—Sulla.
He’s heading away from the barracks, toward the perimeter. Just walking. Processing, maybe.
I watched him today in the water. He was utterly still. Not fighting the cold, not struggling. Just… somewhere else. Like his mind had gone to a different place entirely.
I wonder what he survived to develop that kind of control?
The answer to that question is two thousand years of ice and whatever came before it.
I push the thought away. Not my business. Not relevant to my mission.
I stand, head back to the barracks. Tomorrow will be harder. Mac said so. It’s always harder.
Inside, the barracks is warm from the propane heaters they’ve finally turned on. People are in their cots, some sleeping already, some talking quietly.
I pull out my kit and start on my boots. Same thing I do after every wet op—work the leather before it stiffens, treat it while it’s still pliable. Basic maintenance that most people skip until it’s too late.
The tent flap opens. Sulla, back from wherever he went. He sits, unlaces his boots, and begins treating the leather with the quiet focus of someone who’s done this ten thousand times.
Trevor holds up a boot with the expression of a man watching something die. Sulla glances over, and something moves across his face that I don’t expect. He holds out his hand for the boot.
He catches me watching. I give him a single nod and go back to my work. By the time I finish my own kit, he’s helped nearly half the tent. Freely. Without being asked twice. I stow my kit, climb into my cot, and pull the blanket up.
Sixteen contestants left. One day closer to the money I need. One day closer to finishing this.
I close my eyes.
Don’t get attached.