Chapter 2 - The Wrong Side of the Lesson
Ryan had built his career around rooms and ranges full of hard men who went quiet when he spoke.
At forty-two, he was broad, sharp-eyed, and decorated enough that most people confused arrogance with authority. He liked tests. He liked pressure. He especially liked proving that someone did not belong.
And the woman at lane twelve looked like the perfect target.
“You know what’s downrange?” Ryan asked.
“Yes.”
“Distance?”
“Eight hundred meters.”
“At least you can read a marker.”
Laughter moved down the line.
The woman adjusted her sling.
Ryan leaned closer.
“This is a restricted evaluation range. Nobody wanders in here.”
“I didn’t wander.”
That cooled the laughter slightly.
Behind the shooters, Commander Daniel Brooks stood with his hands folded behind his back. Late fifties, quiet, unreadable. He had not interrupted once.
But his eyes stayed on the woman’s hands.
Ryan noticed none of that.
“You got a name?” he asked.
The woman finally turned her head.
Behind the clear lenses, her eyes were steady.
“Not one you need yet.”
The nearest shooters stopped smiling.
Ryan set his coffee down on the steel bench.
“Listen carefully,” he said. “Everyone here earned the right to stand on this line.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He pointed toward the distant steel plate.
“Nobody has hit five consecutive clean shots today.”
“I heard.”
“Then you know the standard.”
She looked back downrange.
“I know the old standard.”
The range shifted.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
“What did you say?”
May you like
The woman’s voice stayed flat.
“I said I know the old standard.”
