Page 97 of Specter Bred

"Enough," Hayes snapped, stepping between us. "That’s exactly why she’s the right choice."

Redwood glared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about, beta boy?"

"Because she’s the last person they’d expect," Hayes said. "Think about it. They’ll never believe this group agreed to make Archer the last runner. They’ll be watching for you. Not her."

That stung more than I wanted it to, because he wasn’t wrong.

Before Redwood could argue, Garrison spoke up. "He’s right. Plus, Archer made it farther than Redwood did last time, and that was with the instructors targeting her."

The group went quiet. Hayes nodded first, then another recruit muttered I was smaller, faster, and easier to hide. One by one, they started agreeing.

The shift was subtle, but I felt it. For the first time, someone other than Hayes was standing up for me. A sharp pulse of satisfaction curled through me. Slowly, their opinions were changing.

Redwood looked around, realizing he’d lost the room.

"Fine," he muttered. "I just hope she doesn’t fuck it up."

I smirked. "I won’t."

This time there was no cover of darkness, no pounding rain, and no mud to disappear into. Instead, there was just daylight, open ground, and obstacles. Concrete barriers, rusted-out vehicles, trenches, and broken walls littered the field.

At the edge of the course, the instructors climbed into a single convoy truck. Graves sat behind the wheel. Cutter and Alvarez stood in the back, rifles loaded with non-lethal training rounds, ready to fire.

The moment the horn blasted across the course, every recruit exploded into motion. The instructor’s convoy engine roared to life, and recruits bolted, a flurry of camo motion.

And then, almost as quickly as it started, the course went dead still.

No bodies.

No movement.

Nothing but the low growl of the truck rolling forward.

Graves narrowed his eyes through the windshield.

"What the fuck..." Cutter muttered from the back.

I pressed myself flat behind a concrete barrier, heart hammering as Hayes crouched across from me. He already had a few flags piled in his lap. All over the course, the others had done the same. Hidden behind cover with their assigned partners, passing flags off in silence.

The first transfer.

We waited, watching and listening.

The truck rolled closer. Then, right on cue, Teller broke first. He darted out from behind a rusted-out car, weaving through debris. Cutter fired immediately. Paint rounds cracked through the air.

"Movement, left!" Cutter shouted.

Redwood burst out next from the opposite side, drawing Alvarez’s attention.

Then Pike.

Then Garrison.

One after another.

No flags.

Just bodies, fast, loud, and meant to be seen.