Page 22 of Protect Thy Enemy

Grant steps forward, his voice cold and even. “Every decision you make will be scrutinized. If you don’t move as a unit, you’ll fail. If you lose the asset, you’ll fail. If you hesitate…” He lets the word hang in the air, his eyes locking on mine.

“You’ll fail,” I finish, meeting his gaze.

Something flickers in his expression. I can’t tell if it’s approval or annoyance, but I bet it’s the latter. Either way, it’s gone before I can decipher it.

“Begin when ready,” Harris says, stepping back.

The buzzer sounds, and the door to the simulation room slides open.

Park moves first, his steps quiet but deliberate as he scans the dimly lit hallway. I follow close, weapon raised, my breathing steady. The first room is empty, just overturned furniture and scattered newspapers.

We move as a unit through the space, the silence stretching thin. My eyes flick between the corners of the room, the doorframes, the shadows that seem to move if you stare too long.

“Left side, clear,” Park says under his breath.

“Right side, clear,” I reply, my voice low.

The next hallway feels tighter, the walls pressing in as we approach the next room. I signal for Park to stop, listening for movement beyond the door.

A creak. Soft, barely there, but enough to send a spike of adrenaline through my veins.

I nod toward the door, motioning for Park to cover me as I move forward. My hand is steady as I grip the handle, pushing it open just enough to see inside.

The first shot comes fast, ricocheting off the doorframe.

“Contact!” I hiss, ducking back as more simulated gunfire erupts.

Park shifts beside me, taking position to return fire. “You good?”

“Fine,” I mutter, adjusting my grip. My heart pounds against my ribs, but my focus sharpens.

I lean out, firing two quick shots that take down the first target. A second one moves in from the left, but Park is already on it, his aim sharp.

“Two down,” he says, his voice calm.

I nod, stepping into the room to clear the remaining corners. The space is tight, cluttered with obstacles that make every movement feel like a risk.

“Asset secure,” Park says, gesturing toward the mannequin in the corner marked with a bright yellow vest.

But there’s no time to relax.

A shadow shifts in my peripheral vision, and I spin, firing before I fully register the target. The dummy collapses, but my pulse doesn’t slow.

“You’re still hesitating, Rookie.” Grant’s voice echoes through the comms, sharp and cold.

My teeth clench as I push forward, ignoring him.

The final room is larger and open, with high ceilings and too many angles to cover. I signal for Park to hold back, taking the lead as we move inside.

The first shot misses me by inches, and I drop to a crouch, returning fire. Park moves to my right, taking out another target before it can get too close.

“Watch your six,” he calls out, his voice tight.

I twist, catching movement behind me. My breath hitches as I fire, taking out the last target just as the buzzer sounds.

“Time,” Harris announces, his voice cutting through the ringing in my ears.

I exhale, lowering my weapon as the tension bleeds out of my muscles. Park steps up beside me, a grin tugging at his lips.

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