Chapter 14
1950 Words
The next morning, the training field buzzes with activity. The recruits are already assembled, stretching and preparing for another grueling day under Ziana’s watchful eye. Mickey stands among them, blending in effortlessly despite his towering frame and quiet intensity. His eyes never stray far from Ziana as she approaches, clipboard in hand, her commanding presence silencing the chatter.
"All right, recruits," Ziana begins, her voice firm and unyielding. "Today, we’re covering endurance, strategy, and combat. You’ll be pushed to your limits, and I don’t care if you’re tired, sore, or feel like quitting. Out there, weakness gets you killed. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma’am!" the recruits chorus.
Mickey’s smirk is subtle but unmistakable. He leans slightly toward the recruit next to him, muttering, "She woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."
Ziana’s sharp hazel eyes snap to him instantly. "Morningstar, did you have something to add?"
He straightens, feigning innocence. "Not at all, ma’am. Just admiring your... motivational techniques."
A few recruits snicker, but the icy glare Ziana shoots them quickly silences their amusement.
"Good," she says, her tone clipped. "Then let’s see if your stamina matches your sarcasm. Take point on the obstacle course."
Mickey tilts his head, his smirk widening. "Anything for you, ma’am."
The recruits murmur as Mickey jogs to the front. The obstacle course is brutal—ropes, walls, mud pits, and tire runs designed to break even the fittest participants.
"Let’s see how smooth you are after this," Ziana mutters under her breath as she blows the whistle.
Mickey takes off like a predator on the hunt, his movements fluid and precise. He scales walls with ease, swings across ropes without breaking a sweat, and lands each jump with perfect balance. By the time he reaches the finish line, the other recruits are still struggling through the first half.
Ziana frowns, her competitive spirit flaring. She approaches Mickey, who is casually stretching as if the course hasn’t even challenged him.
"Impressive," she admits grudgingly.
He shrugs, his grin maddeningly cocky. "What can I say? I like to make an impression."
Ziana crosses her arms. "Let’s see how you fare in the hand-to-hand combat drills. Maybe one of your peers can humble you."
Mickey’s eyes gleam with amusement. "Humble me? Sounds like a challenge."
"It is," she replies, her tone daring.
The recruits form a circle as Ziana pairs them off for sparring. Mickey watches with mild interest until his name is called.
"Morningstar, you’re with Jenkins."
A stocky recruit steps forward, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s see how fast that mouth of yours runs when you’re on the ground."
Mickey smirks. "Let’s."
The fight is over in less than a minute. Jenkins lunges, but Mickey sidesteps effortlessly, using his opponent's momentum to flip him onto the mat. Jenkins groans, winded but unhurt.
Ziana’s lips thin. "Again," she orders.
This time, Mickey doesn’t even let Jenkins get close. He ducks under a punch, sweeps Jenkins’ legs out from under him, and pins him with a knee to the chest.
"That all you got?" Mickey asks, his voice mocking but calm.
"Enough!" Ziana barks, stepping forward. "Morningstar, you’re up against me."
The recruits murmur, excitement crackling in the air.
Mickey straightens, his smirk fading into something more serious. "You sure about that, ma’am?"
"Afraid to lose?" she challenges, stepping into the circle.
He chuckles. "Not exactly."
They square off, the tension palpable. Ziana strikes first, her movements swift and calculated. Mickey dodges, countering with precision but pulling his strikes just enough to avoid hurting her.
"You’re holding back," Ziana accuses, blocking a punch.
"Wouldn’t want to embarrass my instructor," Mickey replies smoothly, ducking under her next attack.
Her eyes narrow, and she sweeps his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat. Before he can recover, she presses a knee to his chest, her hand pinning his wrist.
The recruits erupt into cheers and laughter, but Mickey just lies there, grinning up at her.
"Looks like you win, Peaches."
Ziana blinks, her grip tightening slightly. "What did you just call me?"
Mickey’s grin falters for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovers. "Nothing, ma’am. Just slipped out."
She studies him for a moment longer before standing and offering her hand. "Get up."
"Yes, ma’am," he says, taking her hand and rising to his feet.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of drills and exercises, with Mickey continuing to toe the line between infuriating and entertaining. By the time they wrap up, Ziana looks ready to throttle him.
As the recruits disperse, Mickey lingers, watching Ziana as she organizes the training gear.
"You really enjoy making my life difficult, don’t you?" she asks without looking up.
"Just trying to keep things interesting," he replies, leaning casually against a nearby post.
"Well, stop," she snaps.
Mickey chuckles but doesn’t push further.
Later that evening, Ziana is called to the commanding officer’s office. As she approaches the door, she overhears hushed voices inside.
"You think it’s him?"
"It has to be. There’s no other explanation."
Her brow furrows as she presses her ear to the door.
"If he’s here, we’re all in danger. We need to act fast."
Before she can hear more, the door swings open, and she stumbles back. The officer inside glares at her.
"Montana, come in," he says gruffly.
Ziana hesitates, glancing back down the hall, but something in his expression tells her this isn’t just a routine meeting.
Meanwhile, Mickey sits in his bunk, his phone buzzing again. Another message.
*You’re not the only one who’s infiltrated this place, Mickey. Watch your back.*
The accompanying photo makes his blood run cold.
It’s Ziana, standing outside the commanding officer’s office, completely unaware of the pair of eyes watching her from the shadows.
Mickey curses under his breath, shoving the phone into his pocket and heading for the door.
He’s done playing nice.
XXXXX
The next day dawns crisp and clear, the chill of the early morning air doing little to dampen the intensity on the training field. Ziana is already there, her sharp voice cutting through the murmurs of half-asleep recruits as she barks orders.
"Move it, people! You’re not here for a vacation!"
Mickey strolls in, perfectly on time, his face alight with that infuriating smirk that Ziana has come to loathe. He falls in line with the rest of the recruits, casually adjusting his uniform like he isn’t about to face one of the most grueling days of training yet.
"Today," Ziana announces, pacing before the group like a general preparing her troops for battle, "we’re focusing on endurance, strategy, and teamwork. No slackers. No excuses." Her gaze sweeps over the recruits and lingers on Mickey for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Mickey catches it, of course. "I feel inspired already, ma’am," he drawls, earning a few chuckles from the others.
Ziana shoots him a look that could freeze lava. "Careful, Morningstar. Inspiration won’t save you from the punishment laps I’m about to assign."
He just winks. "Guess I’ll warm up, then."
---
The morning begins with a brutal obstacle course that includes climbing ropes, crawling under barbed wire, and scaling walls. Mickey excels, naturally, but not without his usual antics.
When it’s his turn to scale the wall, he takes his sweet time, pausing at the top to call down, "You want me to wave a flag up here, ma’am? Maybe build a lookout post?"
"Move it, Morningstar!" Ziana snaps, hands on her hips.
"Yes, ma’am," he says with mock obedience, saluting before descending in record time.
---
Next comes the endurance run, a grueling five-mile loop through rugged terrain. Mickey keeps pace with Ziana, his casual stride a stark contrast to the panting and groaning recruits around them.
"You always this chipper on a death march?" she asks, not bothering to mask her irritation.
"Only when I have such charming company," Mickey replies smoothly.
"Charming won’t keep you from falling behind," she shoots back.
"Falling behind? Me?" He grins, picking up the pace just enough to get ahead of her. "I’d hate to disappoint you, Red."
Ziana bites back a retort, her fists clenching. She can’t afford to let him get under her skin—not when she’s supposed to be the one in control.
---
By midday, the recruits are exhausted, but Ziana shows no signs of letting up. She introduces a team-building exercise that involves carrying weighted dummies through a simulated battlefield.
Mickey ends up in a group of three recruits who struggle to keep up. Instead of stepping in to help, he casually walks alongside them, tossing out unhelpful advice.
"Watch your footing there, buddy. Wouldn’t want you to twist an ankle."
"Think of it as a trust exercise. I trust you to carry the dummy, and you trust me to… supervise."
Ziana storms over, her patience officially at its limit. "Morningstar, if you don’t start pulling your weight, I will personally see to it that you’re running laps until sundown."
Mickey finally grabs the dummy, hefting it onto his shoulder with ease. "All right, all right. No need to get dramatic."
---
As the sun dips lower in the sky, Ziana gathers the recruits for a final exercise: hand-to-hand combat drills. She pairs them off, giving clear instructions on technique and strategy.
When it’s Mickey’s turn, he deliberately lags behind until he’s the only one left without a partner.
"Guess it’s just you and me, ma’am," he says, his smirk firmly in place.
Ziana sighs, stepping onto the mat. "Fine. Let’s get this over with."
They square off, and Mickey, as expected, doesn’t take it seriously. His movements are lazy, his strikes slow and telegraphed.
"Are you holding back, Morningstar?" Ziana asks, dodging his half-hearted punches with ease.
"Wouldn’t want to hurt you," he replies with mock concern.
Ziana’s response is swift and merciless—a quick sweep of his legs that sends him sprawling. She stands over him, arms crossed. "You’ll have to do better than that."
Mickey grins up at her. "You’re ruthless, Red. I like it."
Ziana rolls her eyes, extending a hand to help him up. But the moment he’s on his feet, he pulls her into a mock clinch, his grip firm but not forceful.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only she can hear. "You might start to enjoy this."
Ziana breaks free, her cheeks burning. "Back in line, recruit."
---
As the recruits are dismissed, Mickey lingers again, watching as Ziana organizes equipment. He approaches her cautiously, his usual smirk replaced with something closer to sincerity.
"Hey, ma’am," he says, his tone softer than usual.
"What now, Morningstar?" she asks without looking up.
He hesitates, his hand brushing the back of his neck. "Just wanted to say… you’re good at this. The whole tough-love thing."
Ziana pauses, glancing at him. "Thanks, I guess. Now get out of here."
Mickey nods, turning to leave, but stops when he sees a figure standing in the shadows near the edge of the field.
Something about the figure’s stance sends a chill down his spine.
"Ziana," he says quietly, his voice laced with tension.
"What?" she asks, looking up from her clipboard.
He nods toward the figure. "Who’s that?"
Ziana follows his gaze, her brow furrowing. "I don’t know."
Before she can take a step, the figure vanishes into the darkness.
"Stay here," Mickey says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Ziana grabs his arm, stopping him. "Morningstar, what’s going on?"
He turns to her, his eyes hard. "Nothing good."
And with that, he disappears into the night, leaving Ziana standing alone, her heart pounding with unease.
- Writer
