Page 52 of Specter Bred

"Sir, she—"

"Shut up."

The words were quiet, but they hit harder than any shout could have. There was something about the calm, measured tone Grizzly used when he was truly angry that was far more terrifying than hearing him raise his voice.

"You got played, Redwood."

Miles’ jaw clenched, embarrassment now coloring his face.

"I don't give a fuck what she said to you. I don't give a damn how angry she made you. The second you put your hands on another Specter candidate, you lost."

Redwood opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it shut when Grizzly continued, smart enough to know better than to interrupt the Major when he was this angry.

“You think the enemy is going to fight fair, Redwood? They’ll get under your skin. They’ll say whatever the fuck they have to, find every weakness you’ve got and dig until you snap. And if Archer can bait you into losing control with a few fucking words, what the hell do you think the enemy is going to do to you?”

Redwood didn’t answer. He didn’t even open his mouth. His gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders drawing inward as his jaw tightened. He couldn’t seem to look at any of us, least of all Graves.

Graves didn’t need him to.

The silence told him everything.

"That's what I thought."

The scarred side of Graves’s face pulled taut, his jaw flexing once before his teeth ground together. His fingers curled slowly at his sides, knuckles whitening as whatever restraint he’d been clinging to frayed.

"You want to be a Specter? Well, here’s a tip. None of us are looking for the biggest recruit in this class. Hell, we’re not even looking for the strongest. Every instructor is looking for soldiers they can trust when things go sideways."

His voice dropped even lower.

"And right now, you're making a damn good argument that you aren't one of them."

Redwood's face paled.

"If you ever put your hands on another recruit again, I don't care what they said, I don't care what they did, and I sure as hell don't care how justified you think you are."

Graves leaned closer.

"You're gone."

His words landed like a hammer.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Redwood muttered, barely able to make eye contact with our instructor.

Graves leveled his gaze for another long second before finally releasing him. Redwood stumbled backward and immediately straightened, trying to recover what little dignity he had left.

No one was stupid enough to laugh, move, or even cough.

Then Graves turned toward me. His jaw was still locked tight, a muscle ticking beneath the scarred side of his face, but it was the look in his eyes that made my stomach clench. Whatever fury he’d unleashed on Miles hadn’t come close to satisfying him, and the second that burning stare settled on me, one thing became painfully clear.

I was next.

He didn't say a word to me. Instead, he crooked a finger in my direction before looking over at Alvarez and Cutter, who had crossed the training field after hearing the commotion and catching the tail end of his conversation with Redwood.

"I'm taking Archer to medical," Graves said.

Neither instructor argued. They took one look at the blood running down my arm and nodded.