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"Locke, you're with me today."
Danny froze halfway through tying his boot. The rest of the students glanced up from breakfast trays, curious. Marcus didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked.
Danny scrambled after him, boots slapping the tile. "Sir, did I screw something up?"
"Not yet."
"That's—uh—that's not super reassuring, sir."
Marcus pushed through the side door into the drill yard. Morning air hit cold. The range stretched out ahead, target dummies lined up like a firing squad. He stopped at the first station and tossed Danny a vest.
"Put it on."
Danny caught it, fumbled, nearly dropped it. "We doing live drills today?"
"You are."
"Just me?"
"Just you."
Danny's face did something complicated. Pride, maybe. Fear under it. He pulled the vest on, buckled it too loose. Marcus reached over and yanked the straps tight. Danny made a small noise.
"If it's comfortable, it's wrong," Marcus said.
"Got it. Uncomfortable. Check."
Marcus walked him to the center mark. Twenty meters to the nearest dummy. Standard distance. He'd run this drill a hundred times. More. But today Danny had to live through it.
"You know the sequence," Marcus said.
"Barrier, deflect, counter."
"Fast as you can. No thinking."
Danny swallowed. "Yes sir."
Marcus walked back to the control panel and flipped the sequence to manual. His hand hovered over the trigger. In every other loop, Danny died in the dorm. Never made it to drills. Never had a reason to push past his own limits.
Today he had a reason.
Marcus hit the switch.
The dummy's arm snapped forward. A bolt of red force screamed across the yard. Danny threw up both hands and a barrier flickered into place—thin, wobbly, wrong angle. The bolt punched through and clipped his shoulder. He spun, hit the ground hard.
"Get up," Marcus said.
Danny rolled onto his knees, breathing fast. "I—I had it—"
"You didn't. Again."
"Sir, I need a second—"
"You don't get a second. Again."
Danny staggered to his feet. Marcus reset the dummy. This time he gave Danny three seconds. Not enough. The bolt came faster. Danny's barrier formed late, too far left. The impact threw him sideways into the dirt.
"Up."
"I can't—"
"You can. Up."
Danny pushed himself up, shaking. Blood on his lip where he'd bit down. Marcus didn't give him time to wipe it. He triggered the dummy again.
This time Danny's barrier came up crooked but held. The bolt hit, spiderwebbed across the surface, and died. Danny stood there, chest heaving, staring at his own hands like they belonged to someone else.
"Good," Marcus said.
Danny's head snapped around. "Good?"
"You didn't die. That's the bar."
"That's a pretty low bar, sir."
"It's the only one that matters."
Marcus walked over and checked the vest. Scorch marks on the shoulder, but the fabric held. Danny was still breathing hard, adrenaline making him jittery.
"Why me?" Danny asked.
"What?"
"Why pull me out here alone? Why today?"
Marcus met his eyes. The kid was scared but he wasn't stupid. He'd figured out something was off.
"Because you're the one who needs it most," Marcus said.
Danny's jaw tightened. "You mean I'm the weakest."
"I mean you're still alive. Don't waste it."
Before Danny could answer, the warning bell cut across the yard. End of morning block. Marcus glanced at the main building. Students would be filtering into the commons now. Reina would be sharpening her knives in the armory corner. The mole would be checking their watch.
And somewhere in the next six hours, the timer would start counting down.
"Go eat," Marcus said. "You've got tactical brief in twenty."
Danny pulled off the vest and handed it back, hesitated. "Sir, are you okay?"
"Why?"
"You look like you haven't slept in a week."
Marcus almost laughed. Try a hundred loops, kid. Try waking up to the same burnt toast and the same bad joke from the same dead girl every morning and tell me how you sleep.
"I'm fine," Marcus said. "Go."
Danny jogged back toward the main building. Marcus watched him go, counted his steps. Thirty-two before he disappeared through the door. He'd made it this far. That was something.
Marcus walked back across the yard, past the dummies, past the blast-scorched training stones. He needed to check the perimeter logs. If someone had planted the device, they'd need access to the sublevels. That meant a student pass or a staff override.
He pushed through the side entrance into the admin wing. Empty. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that came right before everything went loud and wrong.
His office was three doors down. He unlocked it, stepped inside, and stopped.
Someone had been here.
Nothing obvious. No drawers open, no files disturbed. But his chair was turned wrong. The window was cracked an inch when he always kept it sealed. And on his desk, centered perfectly on top of his morning reports, was a small black access token.
Marcus picked it up. Student-issue. Metallic, hexagonal, with a facility ID strip along one edge. He turned it over. No name. No room number. But the access log was recent—stamped twenty minutes ago. Sublevels. Armory clearance. Restricted maintenance halls.
All the places a bomb could hide.
He pocketed the token and moved to his terminal. Pulled up the master log. Twenty-seven student tokens active. All accounted for. Which meant this one was off-book. Cloned, maybe. Or issued under a dead name.
His door opened behind him.
Marcus spun, hand going to his belt—empty, no weapon, stupid—and Reina Cross leaned in the doorway.
"Instructor Hale," she said. "You missed the briefing."
"I was running drills."
"With Locke. Yeah. People noticed."
"People talk too much."
Reina smiled. Not warm. "You look stressed, sir."
"I'm fine."
"You keep saying that." She stepped inside, closed the door behind her. The click was too loud. "You know, when someone keeps insisting they're fine, it usually means they're about thirty seconds from a breakdown."
Marcus kept his hand near his pocket. The token felt heavy, too warm. "You need something, Cross?"
"Just checking in. You've been acting weird all morning."
"Weird how?"
"Weird like you know something no one else does."
Her eyes didn't leave his face. Sharp. Searching. Marcus forced himself to breathe normal, keep his expression flat. If she was the mole, she'd be looking for exactly this—someone who'd figured it out. Someone who'd loop back and ruin the plan.
"I don't know anything," Marcus said.
Reina tilted her head. "Then why pull Locke out for private drills? Why push him that hard?"
"Because he needs it."
"Or because you think something's coming."
The silence stretched. Marcus could hear his own pulse. Reina's hand rested on her belt, casual, but her fingers were an inch from her knife.
"What do you want, Cross?" Marcus asked.
"I want to know what you're not telling us."
"There's nothing—"
"Bullshit." She stepped closer. "You've been looking at us like we're already dead. So either you know something, or you're losing it. Which is it?"
Marcus met her stare. The smart play was to deflect. Laugh it off. Tell her she was paranoid.
But the loop always ended the same.
And maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd been trying to solve it alone.
"Get out," Marcus said quietly.
Reina blinked. "What?"
"Get out of my office. Now."
She didn't move. "Sir—"
"That's an order, Cross."
For a second he thought she'd refuse. Her hand twitched toward the knife. Then she stepped back, jaw tight.
"Yes sir," she said. Cold. Clipped. She turned and left, door swinging shut behind her.
Marcus exhaled. His hands were shaking. He pulled the token out again, stared at it. Whoever left this wanted him to find it. Wanted him to know. But know what? That they were watching? That they were always a step ahead?
Or that they wanted him to come looking?
His terminal beeped. Incoming message. Internal network. He opened it.
One line. No signature.
"Sublevels. Maintenance three. Bring the token."