“They don’t.” His voice stayed even. “That’s why they die.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Training exists because instinct is unreliable under stress. First live-fire contact, half my unit forgot things they could do in their sleep. That’s why we train in simulations, to try to eliminate that reaction gap.”
He returned to his starting position. “Again.”
This time she moved. Not far. Not fast. But she moved. The sand shifted under her foot. Her ankle rolled. She stumbled sideways, arms windmilling.
Zach caught her elbow. Steadied her. Released her immediately. “Sand lies to you. Feels solid until it isn’t.”
Emma pushed her hair back, breathing a little harder now. “How am I supposed to run in this?”
“Don’t run like you’re on pavement.” He demonstrated: short steps, a lower center of gravity, weight controlled. No wasted motion. “Small steps. Stay under your core. Don’t over-commit.”
She tried again. Better. Still clumsy, but correcting.
Zach circled her. She pivoted to track him, adjusting constantly, fighting the ground as much as him.
“Good,” he said. “Now look past me.”
“What?”
“If I’m the threat, the solution isn’t in my face.” He gestured. “Where do you go?”
Emma glanced around. He knew what she saw—waterline, dunes, scattered rocks. Scrub brush. The tree line beyond.
“That way,” she pointed toward the firmer sand near the water.
“Better footing. Fewer obstacles. Good.” He shifted position. “Now, where do you not go?”
She hesitated, scanning again. “Dunes?”
“Why.”
“Soft sand. Limited visibility. Easy to get trapped.”
Zach gave a single nod. “Good. You’re thinking terrain now.”
He lunged again. She moved faster this time—angled, not straight back. Still too slow. He stopped short again.
They ran it again. And again—each time a fraction quicker, a fraction cleaner.
Then she tripped. Hard. Hit the sand shoulder-first. He resisted the urge to help her. “Get up.”
Emma pushed herself up, slower than she should be.
“Too slow.”
“I just ate sand.”
“Do it again. Fall.”
She dropped deliberately this time, then tried to get up faster.
Better.
“Roll, knee under, push,” Zach said. “Don’t stand straight up. You make yourself a target.”
She followed the sequence. Rough, but functional.
“Again.”
