"You really enjoy torturing me, don't you?"
"I enjoy keeping you alive." His eyes drop to my mouth for just a second before snapping back up. "Everything else is secondary."
"Is it?"
The question comes out breathier than I intended. He's so close I can see the individual threads of silver in his beard, count the shades of green in his eyes.
"It has to be." For the second time today he steps back, breaking the spell. "Goodnight, Vivian."
"Goodnight, Deck."
He disappears into his room, and I stand in the middle of the cabin wondering how I'm supposed to sleep when every nerve in my body is still humming from that almost-moment.
The answer, as it turns out, is that I don't.
CHAPTER FIVE
DECK
The scenario drill goes perfectly. That's the problem.
At oh-five-hundred, I trigger the first flash-bang simulator. Vivian is out of bed and moving before the echo fades, grabbing her go-bag, her weapon, heading for the back exit exactly like we rehearsed. She doesn't freeze. Doesn't panic. Doesn't waste time asking questions.
She runs.
I pursue her through the forest for the next hour, appearing from shadows to bark commands, triggering more flash-bangs to keep her heart racing. She stumbles twice but recovers both times. Her breathing stays controlled even when I can see the fear in her eyes. By the time she reaches the rally point at the split boulder, she's shaking with exertion but still alert, still scanning for threats, still holding her weapon correctly.
"Not bad." I step out of the trees, and she spins on me with the Glock raised before recognition registers. "Good target identification. You didn't fire."
"I almost did." She lowers the weapon with trembling hands. "You scared the hell out of me."
"That was the point." I close the distance and take the Glock from her, making it safe. "You performed well under pressure. Better than most people with twice your training."
"I don't feel like I performed well. I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"That's normal. Adrenaline dump." I hand her a water bottle from my pack. "Drink. Breathe. It'll pass."
She drinks, and I watch the trembling slowly subside. The morning light catches the sweat on her skin, the wild tangle of her hair, the fierce determination in her eyes despite her exhaustion. She's beautiful. I've been trying not to notice for a week, but standing here in the quiet forest with her chest heaving and her cheeks flushed, I can't ignore it anymore.
"What happens now?" She hands back the water bottle.
"Now we debrief. Go over what you did right, what needs work." I gesture toward the trail. "Back to the cabin. I'll make breakfast."
We walk in silence, but it's different from the loaded quiet of the past few days. She's processing. I can see her replaying the drill in her head, cataloging her responses, analyzing her performance. The prosecutor's mind, always working.
"I hesitated at the second checkpoint," she says finally. "When you triggered that flash-bang near the stream crossing. I should have kept moving, but I froze for a second."
"You recovered quickly. That's what matters."
"But if it had been real?—"
"If it had been real, you would have died or you wouldn't have. There's no point second-guessing." I hold a branch aside for her to pass. "The goal isn't perfection. The goal is survival. You survived."
"Because you weren't actually trying to kill me."
"No. But the fear was real. Your responses were real. That's what I needed to see."
She's quiet again until we reach the cabin. I start breakfast while she showers, and by the time she emerges in clean clothes with her hair still damp, I've got eggs, bacon and toast ready.
