Page 61 of Gambit
The students stand tall, trying to look unfazed, but their eyes are hungry for approval. Robert steps forward, his presence commanding. He’s not just some guy; he’s a man with a purpose, and everyone feels it.
“Listen up,” he addresses them, voice steady as a rock. “Today, you’re going to show us what you’re made of, and remember, I’m not just watching as a spectator—Impress me.”
There’s a murmur of nerves and excitement. They’re probably thinking this is their shot to shine in front of the heir apparent.
“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” he says.
The whistle blows, sharp and clear, and the first student leaps into action, muscles coiling and uncoiling like a spring. We watch, taking the side route that is clear of obstacles to keep a tight eye on the proceedings as they tackle the gauntlet—crawling under razor wire, scaling walls, balancing on beams that sway precariously above the ground.
“He’s quick,” I comment, nodding towards a lithe figure who’s already halfway through.
“Yeah, but speed isn’t everything,” Robert counters, his gaze analytical. “It’s about endurance, too. Let’s see if he keeps that pace. Horses versus cheetahs.”
I give him an impressed stare. “Nice. Go you.”
He snickers but refocuses quickly. We move along the sidelines, our boots silent on the path, keeping pace with the participants. Each hurdle they take on, every grunt and gasp,is all a test of their strength, their wit, and their will to keep pushing when every fibre in their body screams to stop.
“Come on, dig deep!” I call out as one girl stumbles, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. She pushes herself up and gives me a fierce look, and I grin. That’s the spirit that’ll get her through—not just here, but in the life waiting for them beyond these walls.
I can tell Robert’s taking mental notes of each performance, already formulating plans on how to mould them into leaders, into warriors. It’s the kind of vision that makes me believe, deep down, that he’s got what it takes to run this place next year.
A kid with a mop of curly hair is halfway over a rope net, looking like he’s about to give up the ghost.
“You stop now, you’ll always be stopping. Castle doesn’t breed quitters!” Robert yells, getting into the swings of things.
He huffs, nods, and somehow finds the grit to crawl to the top.
“See that?” I nudge him, pointing at the kid. “He has a solid heart, but his technique’s all over the place.”
“Agreed,” Robert murmurs without taking his eyes off the scene. “We have to drill them on efficiency. Wasted energy equals wasted opportunity.”
I watch as the first few reach the puzzle, their bodies slick with sweat, hands trembling as they work to fit pieces together.
“Look at them go. It’s like watching chaos try to order itself,” Robert chuckles, but there’s admiration in his tone.
“Chaos is where Castle thrives, though,” I remind him, my lips quirking up in a smirk. “It’s our bread and butter.”
“True enough.” He nods. “But there’s room for discipline. They need to know when to strike and when to hold back.”
“Let’s chat strategy. I’m thinking more situational drills—real-world, high stakes—to get their adrenaline pumping and their minds racing.”
“Sounds about right. And maybe some espionage games. Mix it up with a bit of undercover work.” Robert taps his chin with the end of his pen. “Get them thinking like the enemy.”
“Exactly. Make it dirty, make it gritty. That’s how we survive out there.” I glance back at the students, pride swelling in my chest. “These kids will learn to thrive in the shadows and shine in the light.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself.” Robert flashes me a grin that tells me he’s game for anything. “Castle’s future is looking pretty damn bright, Eliza.”
“Only because we refuse to let it dim, Robert.” I return his grin with a fierce one of my own. “Now, let’s get back to it. These future leaders won’t shape themselves.”
We turn back to the gauntlet, and I drift backwards, ready to help those who are lagging in my own special way, which is actually Dad’s special way, ready to forge the next generation of Castle’s finest.
One kid catches my attention—strong build, quick on his feet, but he’s fumbling with the lock-picking station.
“You’re looking about as smooth as a hedgehog in a bag of balloons. Slow down. Speed isn’t everything.”
He looks up, eyes wide with a mix of respect and surprise. He nods and gets back to it, this time slower, steadier. The click is satisfying, a soft whisper of success.
“There you go,” I praise with a quick clap of my hands.
