Chapter 8 - Ado

And Keira’s dead.

At the end of this week, she’ll be on the sidelines of our first intelligence run. Hopefully, by then, she will have stopped dying in drills.

“Out!” I holler, my voice cutting through the air. I watch her body hit the ground, a clean shot to the chest ending her team’s latest attempt. “Blues win. Let’s run that again, back to one!”

There’s a collective groan as the team peels themselves off the gym floor. They’re in the middle of a repetitive infiltration exercise: one team defends a ‘stronghold’ while the other tries to break through. It’s to keep everyone’s reaction times fast and allow those out of practice—principally Veronica and Keira—to sharpen their ranged and close-quarters skills. It also allows me to train multiple of the pack at once, instead of dividing my time between them.

Byron found these electronic air-tag weapons online and insisted on using them. He’s far more enthused by the tech than I am, but they do the job well enough.

There are very few rules. By whatever means possible, stay ‘alive,’ avoid being tagged, and no shifting. I’ve decided to put shifting drills off for now. We can handle that later, when Keira trusts the team more.

Keira pushes herself up slowly, rolling her shoulders to loosen them up. Her expression is calm, focused, with that steady determination I’ve come to recognize as her default. She’s grown into herself in a way that’s hard not to admire—a woman now, competent and confident in her skills. There’s a strength in how she moves, a quiet certainty that wasn’t always there.

I catch myself watching her longer than I should, my gaze lingering on the subtle flex of her muscles, the way she assesses the room before every move, the cool intelligence behind her eyes. She’s more than capable—she’s exceptional. It’s impossible not to notice.

And that’s what makes this so damn complicated.

Even as she prepares to dive into the next drill, there’s something else there, a flicker of something vulnerable, hidden just beneath the surface. She’s stronger now, yes, but in the quiet moments, I see it—the wounds she tries to mask. It’s in the way she pauses sometimes, just for a heartbeat too long, as if she’s lost in a thought she can’t quite shake. It’s in the shadows that flit across her face when she thinks no one is watching. I have never been able to read anyone as well as I read her.

It pulls at something in me. It always has.

The last drill of the day begins with an electric film of excitement in the air. Both teams know this is it: the final round.

The Blues—Bigby, Byron, and Percy—have dominated most of the morning. They’re confident, and with good reason. Bigby’s raw strength, Byron’s strategic mind, and Percy’s speed make them a well-oiled unit. They don’t need this training. They’re only here because I asked them to be.

Meanwhile, Keira’s Red team—which includes Rafael and Veronica—is determined to break their streak. They’ve come close to winning several times, and I can see the fire in Keira’s eyes as they take their positions. This round feels different.

I didn’t intend to divide them into ‘old guard’ and ‘new blood.’ But I think now that it may have been the best formulation to make both teams give their all.

From the sidelines, I watch my teams take off, arms crossed, as I pace and monitor their movements. I’m not in the drill, just observing, but every instinct in me is tuned to the action. I’ve seen these drills countless times before, but there’s something about the way Keira moves today—a sharpness, a drive—that pulls my focus.

The Red team moves through the simulated ‘stronghold’ cautiously, creeping along the gym’s maze of crates, gym equipment, and obstacles we’ve set up to mimic an urban environment. Rafael takes the lead, quick and silent, searching for any sign of the enemy. Veronica brings up the rear, her eyes narrow, focused. They work well together, a smooth, coordinated unit.

But then there’s Keira. She’s different. More than coordinated. She’s in command. The confidence in her steps, the way she scans the environment, anticipating danger before it strikes—it’s remarkable. Does she know that sometimes, it’s as if not a day has passed between her army days and now? I wonder whether she sees within herself what I see there, that which hasn’t changed at all.

I spot Byron moving on the other side of the gym, his voice calm but commanding as he directs his team.

"Bigby, cover the left flank! Percy, watch the entry points!" he barks, calculated as ever.

Keira halts at a narrow hallway—a choke point the Blue team will undoubtedly use to funnel the Reds into a trap. Half of the passage is blocked by a pile of the three or four punching bags I’ve knocked down or broken in the last six months, which have been sitting in a storage cupboard until today. She knows this position could end badly; I can tell by the rigidity in her stance. But she doesn’t hesitate. She signals for her team to follow, a clear plan forming behind her eyes.

She makes the first move, sprinting low and fast toward cover with a grace that surprises me.

Byron fires from his position behind a crate, his aim precise, but Keira’s reflexes are faster. She doesn’t retreat or dive for safety—instead, she propels herself forward, rolling and coming up just behind Byron’s cover. Before he can adjust, she tags him with two quick shots.

“Byron’s out!” I call from the sidelines, my voice echoing across the gym.

Veronica and Rafael follow her lead, pressing forward to secure the position. The momentum has shifted. Bigby and Percy are still out there, but Keira’s quick thinking has given the Reds an opening. I watch her closely, the way she anticipates the next move, always a step ahead.

Bigby, ever the brute force, charges out from behind a barrier, intending to overpower them with his sheer size. But Rafael is ready. He ducks under Bigby’s swing and fires, tagging him clean in the back.

“Bigby’s out!” I shout, though my eyes remain fixed on Keira.

Percy, the last Blue standing, moves through the shadows, fast and elusive. But Keira has already positioned herself at the final checkpoint, waiting for him. I can see the calculation in her eyes, the way she’s reading the space, knowing exactly where Percy will appear.

And when he does, she doesn’t miss. With one precise shot, she tags him the moment he rounds the corner.

“Percy’s out! Reds win!” I announce.

For a split second, there’s stunned silence. Then, the Reds erupt into cheers, their exhaustion forgotten in the thrill of victory. From my vantage point, I watch as Keira stands at the center of it all, catching her breath, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. She’s the reason they won, and she knows it.

Despite everything between us, I can’t help but admire her. But when she glances at me—maybe for some kind of validation—I look away before I can stop myself.

As the Reds celebrate their victory and the Blues commiserate exaggeratedly, I approach them, trying to focus on the team as a whole and not just the one person who has dominated my thoughts all day. My job is to give feedback, guide and push them, and not get caught up in my feelings.

Rafael grins as I approach, sweeping his long, curly hair out of his face. “It had to happen eventually.”

“Nice job, Rafael,” I say. If we were closer, and if I was the type, I might have clapped him on the shoulder, but I’m not, and so I don’t. “Quick reflexes with Bigby. You read the situation well.”

Veronica wipes sweat from her brow, a satisfied look on her face. She’s struggled with her fitness since she gave birth to Zelie, but I can tell she’s getting back to herself. I know Percy would kill me if she was ever injured during a drill, but I also know she can handle herself. I don’t worry about her.

“And you, Veronica,” I add, “Solid positioning. You kept the team secure and made sure no one got flanked. Good work.”

The Blues are gathering, too. Percy extends a hand to help Byron off the floor, both of them panting slightly. Bigby is already edging toward the sidelines, probably to get a look at his phone. It’s Rosa’s day off today, and she’s looking after Zelie and Kaila at the Vandenberg house.

I toss a towel in Byron’s direction. “Bigby, you put up a strong fight. Byron, your strategy was sharp, as always. Percy, good movement—you nearly had them at the end.”

Everyone’s still riding the high of the drill, the praise fueling their energy despite the exhaustion. But as I finish, I can feel the tension from one person: Keira.

She stands just a few feet away, her smile fading with each word that passes her by. I force myself to look in her direction, my chest tightening.

She’s waiting for me to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. How can I praise her without betraying everything else I’m feeling? How can I look her in the eyes and keep this professional when I’m barely holding it together inside?

Back in our army days, we had to communicate. It was what kept us alive. So why, now, can’t I speak?

I don’t. I can’t. I swallow the words I should say, the recognition she deserves, and move on to wrap things up with the others. I’m a coward. Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t want to. Whatever I could hope to say to her would be less than she deserves.

For a second, there’s silence. Then, I hear her exhale, and I turn just in time to see the hurt flash across her face. She doesn’t say a word—doesn’t need to. The disappointment and frustration are clear enough in the way she clenches her fists, in the tight line of her jaw. Without warning, she storms out of the gym, her footsteps echoing in the quiet that follows.

The others watch her go, confusion and concern spreading across their faces. Olivia opens her mouth like she’s about to say something but stops, glancing at me as if she’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

But I can’t explain it. Not to them. And certainly not to myself.

So, I let her leave, feeling the reality of my silence settle in me like a stone.