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I look away toward the ocean and exhale quietly. “Whenever it gets too overwhelming, open it.”

Her sad blue eyes fell over my face as if it meant everything to her without her understanding why.

I stand and look at her one last time, “Go back in.” She looks up as I continue, “And don’t forget your assignment is due Monday.”

Her confusion turns into joy, and she laughs. The sound follows me before she turns back to the ocean.

“Good night, Damien.”

I don’t turn back and pause briefly to reply, “Good night, Mireya.”

46

Mireya

Play - Smother by Daughter

Rat race

Christmas came and went by so quickly but I managed to spend the entire weekend with Milo. I don’t like this period. The memories that came with it every year. A birthday, screams, tears, and so much fear.

But, still, it was nice to see Milo happy opening all of the presents we bought him. Even if we spent it a day too soon. I’ve tried not to think about her now that I’ve returned back to St. Ellesta.

Instead, I’ve focused on nothing but the string of constant routines.

A simple structure that you have to memorize until it’s perfected. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the same result.

Well, that’s what I think I’m doing. Going insane.

Morning training, classes, scenario after scenario until everything sounds like a script: clear your lines, call out your errors, move on.

We ran the same drills until they fit into muscle memory. The classes are long, difficult but efficient. And somehow Damien is just as similar.

He wasn’t what I’d expected. Grumpy but not so bad, not too cold. He was watchful, always leaving two coffees by my side before starting working. He taught me how to read micro-expressions without making it sound like superstition. He taught me neat things: the way someone’s shoulders sag a fraction before they lie, where to look in a word to find the truth it’s trying to hide. Small tools that didn’t fit in a textbook.

He taught them to me like he was passing along something he learnt by someone else. We worked late in the library more than once, but not on the case this time. And being here without him feels wrong in a strange way.

We have a simulation exercise on Monday and Hayzel and I decided it was a good idea to finish it off on Friday and not work on it before.

The file on the table makes it clear:

TACTICAL DECISION BRIEFING, CITY CENTER STATION, 36-HOUR EXERCISE.

Thirty-six fucking hours.

The exercise was supposed to test our ability to make decisions under pressure. A simulated hostage situation inside City Center Station, multiple entry points, civilian risks, limited information and a constantly changing timeline.

We've been here since Thursday morning. It's now Friday afternoon.

My hands smell like reheated coffee and printer ink. The table was buried under maps, fake CCTV reports and so many sticky notes that we could cover an entire wall with them.

Neither of us had slept properly. Hayzel looks just as exhausted as me. Dark circle under her eyes, hair pulled back messily, still gripping her highlighter like she could force the answer out of it.

“Hostage 9 is here,” she says, circling entrance B. “But the location is too exposed and there are too many civilians.” She drew another line across the map and continued, “If we send the negotiation team between 4:07 and 4:13, we might create enough distraction for the other unit to move without causing any damage.”

She stops, looks at the page, then at me and sighs dramatically. “That sounded better in my head.”

“No, it’s a really good idea,” I reassure her, but I honestly don’t think I understood everything she said.