Chapter 16 · The First Battlefield

Cole woke up on a twin bed that smelled like detergent and old wood.

Not the barracks. Not the supply tent. Not even the damn field hospital where Loop Sixty-Seven had started after a particularly messy reset.

His childhood bedroom.

He sat up fast. The room spun. Posters on the walls—bands he'd forgotten he liked, a girl he'd kissed once at a county fair. The carpet had that same burn mark from when he and Danny Ortiz tried to build a flamethrower out of hairspray and a lighter.

He was seventeen again, or his body thought he was. His hands looked wrong. Too smooth. No scar across the knuckles from the Kabul extraction. No calluses from eight months of loop resets gripping the same rifle.

He stood. His legs worked but his center of gravity was off. Younger bones. Lighter frame.

What the hell kind of reset is this?

The door opened.

His mom stood there. Or something wearing her face. She had the same tired smile, same faded blue scrubs from her shift at the hospital. But her eyes didn't track right. They moved a half-second too slow, like video buffering.

"Breakfast is ready," she said.

Cole's throat locked.