Not with impatience.
With effort.
I had spent weeks believing he wanted me to fail.
It was disorienting to discover that, at least in this moment, he wanted me upright.
They got me into the truck.
The medic cut away the remains of my jacket and loosened the compression garment enough to let me breathe.
I kept my face turned toward the open door while he checked the scars and placed cool packs beneath my arms.
I had expected disgust from the others.
Pity, perhaps.
Instead, when I glanced outside, Daniels was standing near the road with his helmet tucked under one arm, looking toward the truck with an expression I couldn’t read.
Vega had sent the rest of the platoon forward with another sergeant.
He remained behind.
That unsettled me more than anything.
“You should go,” I told him.
“I’m responsible for this course.”
“You’re responsible for recruits who can keep up.”
His face hardened, but not in the old way.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you’ve been saying for six weeks.”
The medic paused.
Vega looked through the open truck doors toward the road.
“I was wrong.”
The words were so unexpected that I thought I had misheard him.
