Chapter 32
Raven
Davis surveyed our stunned faces with obvious satisfaction. The timid student who'd asked about blood loss had sunk back into the crowd, trying to disappear. Smart move.
"Follow me to your barracks," Davis barked, turning sharply on his heel. "You have exactly four minutes to reach your assigned quarters before I start adding mountain climbers to tomorrow's regimen."
The group lurched forward like startled cattle, tripping over themselves in their rush to comply. I followed at my own pace, deliberately casual. No need to rush—my body had been conditioned to complete a five-mile run with a bullet wound and still hit a target at 800 yards.
"Problem with your hearing, girl?" Davis called out, noticing my leisurely pace.
"Just saving my energy for when the real training begins," I replied with a slight smile. "Unless this is as intense as it gets."
His eyes narrowed. "What's your name again?"
"Raven Martinez."
"Well, Martinez, I'll be sure to remember that." His tone suggested this wasn't a compliment.
"I'm flattered," I said, maintaining eye contact a beat longer than comfortable.
The barracks were exactly what I expected—utilitarian concrete structures with minimal comforts. Davis stopped at the entrance, consulting his clipboard.
"Room assignments are non-negotiable. You'll find your name on the door. Each room houses four of you." He looked up, scanning our faces. "Lights out at 21:00 hours. That's 9 PM for you civilian types."
I spotted my name alongside three others on a door midway down the hall. The last name on the list made me pause: Becca Wilson. The same Becca who'd tried to humiliate me in French class. How convenient.
Across the hall, Maya caught my eye, her face pale. She motioned subtly to her own door list. I stepped closer to read it: Madison King's name was right there alongside Maya's.
"You've got to be kidding me," Maya whispered. "A whole week with Maddie?"
I leaned in, just loud enough for nearby students to hear. "If anyone in that room gives you trouble, they might not make it back to school in one piece."
Several nearby students shifted nervously. One girl actually took a step back.
"You have ten minutes to change into your uniforms, make your beds, and assemble outside," Davis announced. "Everything must be regulation standard. The first person who fails inspection runs an extra mile. Now move!"
Inside my assigned room, two girls were already frantically unpacking, while Becca stood by her bunk, eyeing me with poorly disguised contempt.
I ignored her, approaching my bunk with methodical calm. While the others fumbled with their gear, I unpacked with practiced efficiency. The bed-making took me less than ten seconds—hospital corners crisp enough to bounce a quarter, blanket pulled taut with mathematical precision.
One of the girls stopped mid-motion, staring at my perfectly made bed. "How did you do that so fast?"
I shrugged. "Practice."
Becca snorted. "What, were you raised in a military school or something?"
"Something like that," I replied, changing into my uniform with quick, economical movements. Bloodline's training facilities made this place look like a daycare center. We learned to dress in the dark while being sprayed with freezing water. Make a sound, and you'd spend the night outside in whatever state of undress you were in.
I was fully dressed and ready in under a minute. "See you outside," I said, not waiting for a response.
Before leaving, I caught Becca's calculating glance toward my perfectly arranged space. The look in her eyes was textbook—envy mixed with malicious intent. I almost wanted to laugh. If she was planning something, it would be amateur hour compared to the sabotage I'd navigated in Bloodline.
Davis did a double-take when I emerged first, checking his watch with visible surprise.
"Problem, Lieutenant Commander?" I asked innocently.
"You're either extremely efficient or you've cut corners, Martinez." He approached my position, examining my uniform with critical eyes. "We'll see which it is during inspection."
Students began trickling out, many still adjusting their uniforms or catching their breath. Leo appeared, his shirt half-tucked and hair disheveled.
"This is insane," he whispered. "I can't believe we have to do this for a week."
Maya joined us, looking equally frazzled. "Maddie has already claimed the best bunk and told me I'm not allowed to touch anything on 'her side' of the room."
"How tragic," I deadpanned.
A girl from another room stumbled out exactly ten seconds after the deadline. Davis immediately zeroed in.
"Congratulations, Phillips! You've just volunteered to demonstrate proper push-up form for the next hour while your classmates enjoy dinner." His voice carried across the assembly area. "Anyone else want to join her?"
The crowd went silent.
"Now," Davis continued, pacing before us, "let me explain what hell looks like for the next seven days. Reveille at 05:00. Lights out at 21:00. No breaks, no excuses, no phones."
He detailed a schedule that had most students looking pale: obstacle courses, wilderness survival, weapons training with blanks, tactical exercises, and physical conditioning that would push even athletic students to their limits.
"Today, we'll start with something simple," he said with a predatory smile. "Just a five-mile run followed by basic combat training. Consider it your appetizer before the real work begins tomorrow."
The collective groan was audible.
Two hours later, we dragged ourselves back toward the barracks. Well, they dragged themselves—I maintained an easy stride while the others stumbled along with trembling legs and sweat-drenched uniforms.
"Not enough cardio in your life, Davenport?" I asked Leo, who looked ready to collapse.
"How..." he wheezed, "are you... not dying right now?"
I shrugged. "Good genes."
"Martinez!" Davis called from behind us. "You don't seem adequately challenged."
"Just warming up, sir," I replied.
His eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow, you'll carry an extra twenty pounds during drills. Maybe that will wipe that smirk off your face."
"Looking forward to it."
Back in the barracks, the other girls in my room collapsed onto their bunks, groaning about muscle pain. I showered efficiently, enjoying the brief solitude. When I emerged, the room was quieter than it should have been.
Becca stood in the center, holding the tattered remains of her uniform, tears streaming down her face. The fabric had been cut to ribbons, rendered completely unwearable.
"My uniform," she sobbed dramatically. "Someone destroyed it!"
The other girls gathered around her, making appropriate sounds of shock and outrage. One ran to fetch Davis while the other put a comforting arm around Becca's shoulders.
Maya appeared in our doorway, eyes wide with concern. "Raven," she whispered, "be careful. This looks like a setup."
I nodded almost imperceptibly, watching the scene unfold with detached interest. It was painfully obvious what was happening—the staging, the timing, the crocodile tears. Amateur hour, indeed.
Davis arrived moments later, his expression thunderous. "What's going on here?"
"Someone cut up my uniform, sir," Becca explained, her voice trembling perfectly. "I was in the shower, and when I came out..." She held up the ruined garment.
"Who would do something like this?" Davis demanded, scanning the room.
On cue, the third roommate spoke up. "Sir, I think I saw something under Raven's bed."
Davis knelt down and reached under my bunk, emerging with a pair of scissors. Small pieces of olive-green fabric clung to the blades.
Maya gasped beside me. I merely smiled, almost appreciating the predictability of it all. Did they really think this childish ploy would work on someone who had disposed of evidence after eliminating high-value targets?
"Martinez," Davis growled, holding up the scissors. "Care to explain this?"
I met his gaze evenly, feeling a calm settle over me—the same tranquility that preceded a difficult extraction. "Is that a serious question?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" His face reddened. "I've had my eye on you since you arrived. That attitude of yours doesn't fly here."
"And destroying government property would be an intelligent move because...?" I let the question hang in the air. "If I wanted to cause trouble, I wouldn't leave evidence under my own bed. That would be insulting to both of our intelligence."
Davis stepped closer. "Did you or did you not cut up Wilson's uniform?"