“Promise me you won’t leave my bed after I fall asleep, or I won’t fall asleep at all.”
He keeps patting my head. I know he will leave, like every night… and my sleep never listens to me.
I look up at his face. “Promise me.”
“Sleep.”
I pout and turn my head away, hugging him tightly. I will see how he triesto move now.
chapter 6
12 August 2040
Zloban (14 years old)
“But I have no business with sniping, Pa. Why do I need to waste four more hours here?” Leo grunts at Grandpa Stefan.
“Training your mind and body to react in milliseconds is every man’s business who wants to strike before others even see. So shut up and lay down.” Grandpa’s voice crackles through the speaker hanging on a tree beside the camera above us.
He’s monitoring us from inside the house. We’re lying in the middle of the backside field, surrounded by ripened crops and tall trees.
Leo and I came here six months ago—to this 2,300-acre countryside farm owned by Dad’s father, Stefan Bennett.
Leo sighs and lays down again on his stomach beside me.
“And how the hell is lying on wet grass for more than eight hours related to reaction time?”
“It teaches you patience,” Grandpa replies. “That’s something you don’t have.”
“Stefan, call the kids. It’s lunchtime!” Grandma’s voice comes from behind him.
“They’ll come before dinner,” Grandpa answers flatly.
“Don’t tell me it’s another stupid—”
The mic cuts off. Grandpa mutes it. According to Grandma, the tasks Grandpa gives us are “stupid and nonsensical,” but that doesn’t mean he will stop. And besides, they only look stupid. The impact they leave on your mind and body is undeniable.
“Can we fall asleep?” Leo asks me.
I smirk. “Why don’t you try?”
I’m sure it’s not allowed. He knows it too. He rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna run away in two days.”
“I will drag you back and tie you upside down the whole night,” Grandpa’s calm voice reaches us again.
Leo smirks. “You won’t be able to run after me, old man.”
“Shut your mouth, or I’ll send someone to tape it shut. And old is your father, not me.”
Leo rolls his eyes again but goes silent anyway.
I count the seconds in my head, noticing every subtle change in air pressure, the faint shifts in wind direction, the temperature drop on my skin, the vibration of leaves against one another, even the distant hum of insects. My gaze locks on the apple swaying 767 meters away on a tree. The only light source near it is a single pole lamp 338 meters off, throwing a dim cone of yellow that leaves more than half of the apple hidden in shadow.
I steady my breath. Inhale. Hold. Exhale halfway and freeze. My shoulder tightens against the rifle stock. I adjust the scope’s crosshairs a fraction of an inch higher, calculating bullet drop over the distance. My fingers curl, first knuckle pressure, never the tip. Heartbeat slows.
Three, two, one… squeeze.
The crack echoes in the night. The recoil nudges me back, but I stay firm, watching through the scope as the apple bursts and scatters into shadow.
