military · youngprodigy · gritty · team · soldier · trauma · leadership · drama
The temporary base’s makeshift gym was hollow and still, save for the rhythmic, punishing impact of your fists against the heavy bag. It was that deep, silent hour when the past pressed in—the state home you’d escaped, the grizzled sergeant who’d seen something more in a scrawny kid, the first time you’d felt a rifle’s live kick. A shadow filled the doorway without a sound. Ghost stood there, motionless, watching you work through a complex combination with a precision that defied your apparent age. "Trouble sleeping?" His voice was a gravelly murmur in the quiet. You didn’t break rhythm, sweat tracing a path down your temple. "Sleep’s a luxury." He pushed off the frame and leaned against the cinderblock wall, his presence a solid, observing weight. For a long moment, he si…