Page 5 of Specter Bred

"Archer?" He made a face. “That doesn’t feel very friendly.”

"We're not friends."

"Not yet," he said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes.

"And I'll call you Hayes."

"See, now that just feels mean."

I slammed the drawer shut.

"I am mean. Get used to it," I hissed before storming out of the room, towel in hand.

I needed a shower. A hot one, with scalding water that worked its way into every tight muscle, slowly unraveling the tension from the day.

I received notice Command had tapped me while deployed in the Borderlands, tracking rebel smuggling routes. For nearly a month, my unit had been mapping supply lines, identifying safe houses, and intercepting contraband moving across Arca's borders.

It was slow, tedious work. Until it wasn't.

Smuggling routes had a habit of leading to larger things, like weapons caches, militant cells, wanted fugitives, or sometimes all three. We had just finished raiding a supply depot hidden inside an abandoned quarry when the message from Command came through.

Classified.

Priority One.

Command had selected me for ASOG candidacy.

Two days later, a transport helicopter landed at our operating base and by nightfall, I was on my way to South Fairfield Training Base, home of the Specter Program. At least Phase One of it. And now here I was, exhausted, jet-lagged, and expected to report for orientation at zero six hundred hours.

Honestly, this was nothing compared to the conditions I normally operated under. I'd gone days without proper sleep, survived on ration bars and caffeine, and spent more nights in the dirt than in an actual bed. If I expected sympathy over a long flight and an early wake-up call, I wouldn’t last very long. And if I had any expectation of getting decent rest over the next year of Specter training, I might as well pack my bags and leave now.

Showers like this were rare. Hot, unrushed, and a quiet luxury most soldiers learned not to take for granted. I intended to savor it while it lasted. Because by this time tomorrow, I'd be knee-deep in Specter training, and if the stories were true, comfort would become a distant memory.

I tipped my head back and let the scalding water wash over me, mentally preparing for the fresh hell that awaited.

Chapter 2: Nolan "Grizzly" Graves

Zero three hundred hours.

The perfect wake-up call.

We'd told the new recruits orientation started at zero six hundred hours, but that was the point. Specters didn't get predictable schedules, comfortable mornings, or gentle introductions. If a candidate couldn't function exhausted and disoriented, they had no business being here.

My fellow instructors, Captains Billy Cutter and José Alvarez, headed toward the squad bay to wake the alpha recruits while I made my way through the dorms reserved for Command's latest experiments.

Dormitory 37.

My boots stopped outside the door, jaw tightening. I could already smell them: the female alpha and the beta male. Neither of them belonged in ASOG, and before this training cycle was over, I intended to make sure they understood that.

I punched in the override code on the panel beside the door and eased it open without a sound. Recruits didn’t get privacy in the squad bay, and Archer and Hayes were no exception just because their housing was in the dorms.

Their room was dark except for the thin strip of moonlight spilling through a window.

Sleeping Beauty had claimed the top bunk.

Maeve Archer lay sprawled across the mattress in a mess of dark braided hair and toned limbs. She wore a fitted black tank top and compression shorts that left little to the imagination. Even asleep, she looked tense. Like she expected a fight the second she opened her eyes.