Chapter 171
Raven
I stood at the edge of the log, staring down at the murky swamp below. Behind me, Katya and Ethan were already launching into their motivational speeches.
"You can do this, Raven!" Katya's voice carried that forced enthusiasm people use when they're trying to convince themselves as much as you.
"Just take it slow," Ethan added, his tone measured and professional. "Steady wins the race."
I didn't move.
Seconds ticked by.
"She's stalling!"
"Bet she's gonna crawl too!"
"After all that talk, she's choking!"
I ignored them.
I tilted my head, studying the log from different angles. My eyes traced the moss patterns, calculating friction coefficients. Wind speed: negligible. Distance: fifteen meters. Surface stability: questionable but manageable.
My fingers drummed against my thigh—one, two, three, four, five. Mental metronome. Rhythm check.
"What are you doing?" Ethan moved closer, his analytical mind probably running overtime. Then his expression shifted—from concern to recognition. His eyes widened. "Wait. Are you... are you figuring out how to beat my record?"
I glanced back at him. "Your record?"
"You're calculating the fastest route across." His eyes widened with a mix of excitement and disbelief. "You're actually planning to beat my time?"
Katya gasped. "Holy shit. Raven, you can't be serious!"
I shrugged. "Why not?"
"Why not?!" Katya grabbed my arm. "Because it's insane! Look, you don't need to show off. Ethan's record is solid. He's literally a physics genius. Just get across safely and—"
"Break the record?" I cut her off, a smile tugging at my lips. "Oh, I'm not trying to break his record."
Ethan froze. "What?"
I turned to face the log again, my voice dropping to that casual tone that always preceded something reckless. "I'm breaking my own record. The one I just set for myself."
"Which is?" Ethan's voice had gone up an octave.
"Originally, I thought five seconds would be acceptable." I rolled my shoulders, loosening up. "But then I realized—if I can't do it in three, what's even the point?"
Silence.
Then—
"SHE'S LOST IT!"
"Three seconds?! Lady, you're delusional!"
"Someone get a medic! The pressure finally broke her!"
"RAVEN!" Reeves's voice cut through the chaos like a whip crack. "MOVE YOUR ASS! We have seventeen more teams waiting, and I'm not running a goddamn circus here!"
I didn't acknowledge him. My eyes were closed now, running final calculations.
Fifteen meters. Moss coverage: approximately 60% surface area. Friction coefficient with moss: 0.3. Without moss: 0.6. Average: 0.45.
My speed: five meters per second sprint velocity, adjusted for balance requirements.
Projected time: 3.2 seconds.
Unacceptable.
I'd need momentum. Acceleration. Something to eliminate the friction variable entirely.
My internal voice whispered: You know what needs to happen.
I did.
"Raven!" Katya's voice cracked with genuine fear now. "OPEN YOUR EYES! You're here to win, remember?! Don't throw it away for some stupid—"
"Raven, seriously," Ethan interrupted, trying for calm but failing. "I know you're good, but this is insane. If you mess up—"
Too late.
I'd already started.
My body moved before conscious thought could interfere—muscle memory from a thousand training sessions in places far more dangerous than this glorified obstacle course.
I launched forward, knees bent, arms extended.
Then I was airborne.
The world tilted. My hands hit the log's surface—one, two, three meters from the edge. Not a landing. A springboard.
I pushed off, rotating mid-air. One somersault. Clean. Controlled. My feet found purchase for a split second—not on the slick moss, but on the exposed wooden grain near the center line.
Push. Rotate. Again.
Second somersault. The log swayed beneath me, but I was already airborne again, using its momentum rather than fighting it.
Third flip.
Fourth.
My heart rate stayed steady. HEART RATE: 68 BPM. Lower than it had been standing still.
Because this? This was easy.
Fifth somersault—and my feet touched solid ground on the opposite bank.
I landed in a crouch, perfectly balanced, and slowly straightened.
The clearing had gone silent.
Every single person—candidates, instructors, even the soldiers manning the equipment—stared at me like I'd just walked on water.
I turned around, brushing dirt off my hands.
"Well?" I called out. "What's the time?"
Reeves was frozen, his eyes locked on his tablet screen. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"FUCK!" The word exploded out of him.
Every head swiveled toward the general.
He looked up at me, his expression caught somewhere between fury and awe. "Two point eight-nine seconds."