Derek leaned in, smirking. "Yeah, well, eat faster. You're taking up space real soldiers need."
He flicked her tray, sending a spoonful of mashed potatoes splattering onto her shirt. The room howled.
Olivia wiped the mess with a napkin, her hands slow, her eyes never leaving her plate. She took another bite like he wasn't even there.
Warm-ups were a test of endurance. Push-ups until your arms shook. Sprints that burned your lungs. Burpees in the dirt under a blazing sun.
Olivia kept pace, her breathing steady, but her shoelaces kept slipping loose. They were old, frayed, barely holding her boots together.
During a sprint, a guy named Lance jogged up beside her. Lance was the group's golden boy, broad-shouldered, with a grin that said he'd never lost at anything.
"Yo, thrift store," he called, loud enough for the whole line to hear. "Your shoes giving up? Or is that just you?"
Laughter rippled through the group.
Olivia didn't respond. She knelt, retied her laces with quick, precise fingers, and stood. But as she did, Lance bumped her shoulder hard. She stumbled, her hands hitting the mud, her knees sinking into the wet earth.
The group howled.
"What's that, Mitchell?" Lance said, smirking. "You signing up to clean the floors, or just be our punching bag?"
Olivia got up, wiped her palms on her pants, and ran on. Not a word. The laughter followed her all morning.
During a break, Olivia sat on a wooden bench, pulling a granola bar from her bag.
Tara sauntered over with two other cadets, her arms crossed, her voice syrupy with fake concern. "Olivia, right? So, like, where are you even from? Did you, what, win a contest to be here?"
Her friends giggled, one covering her mouth like it was all too funny.
Olivia took a bite, chewed slowly, and looked up. "I applied." She set her voice flat, like she was stating the weather.
Tara's smile tightened. "Okay, but why?" she pressed, leaning in. "You don't exactly scream elite soldier. I mean, look at your everything."
She waved a hand at Olivia's muddy T-shirt, her plain brown hair.
Olivia set her granola bar down and leaned forward, just enough to make Tara flinch.
"I'm here to train," she said. "Not to make you feel better about yourself."
Tara froze, her cheeks reddening. "Whatever," she muttered, turning away. "Weirdo."
The navigation drill was a new kind of hell. Cadets had to cross a forested ridge, map in hand, under a strict time limit.
Olivia moved alone, her compass steady, her steps quiet against the pine needles.
A group of four cadets, led by a wiry guy named Kyle, spotted her checking her map under a tree. Kyle, who'd been vying for Lance's spotlight, saw his chance.