The selection process continued for another month.
There were failures.
There were injuries.
There were days when I wondered whether I had made a mistake.
But I never hid again.
If something hurt, I reported it.
If I needed help, I asked.
If I didn’t know something, I admitted it.
And strangely enough, asking for help didn’t make me weaker.
It made me better.
On the final morning, we stood in formation.
The lieutenant read the names of those who had completed selection.
When he said mine, I almost didn’t react.
“Mercer, Rowan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Congratulations.”
I stepped forward.
The applause was brief.
Military.
Controlled.
But when I looked toward the back of the formation, I saw my mother.
She had come without telling me.
Beside her stood Vega.
My mother was crying.
I smiled.
Afterward, she hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“You did it.”
I laughed.
“We did.”
She pulled back.
“No.”
She touched my face.
“You did.”
I shook my head.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiled.
“Maybe.”
Then she looked toward Vega.
“And maybe without him.”
I turned.
Vega was standing several feet away.
My mother called him over.
He approached cautiously.
