At exactly 10 o'clock at night, Bella arrived at the officer training ground.
The rest of the academy was dark and still, cloaked in silence. But this place—isolated and far from the cadet training areas—was alive in its own quiet way. Floodlights cast a silver glow over the polished floors; the targets neatly lined in the distance. Just beside the ground stood the officer gym, its walls made of glass, faint lights glowing inside. Next to it, the swimming pool shimmered under the reflection of the moon, still and untouched.
Bella stepped through the heavy door into the range. The moment she did, she spotted him.
Officer Ethan was already there.
He stood near the edge of the shooting lane, calm and still, as though he'd been waiting for her all night. His expression was unreadable, arms crossed, eyes locked on her.
"Come in," he said, his voice steady.
Bella approached, the sound of her boots echoing faintly in the otherwise silent, soundproof space.
Without greeting, Ethan looked her over and said, "Your shooting skills are very weak, Cadet Bella."
Bella narrowed her eyes slightly. "So, this extra training… is my punishment?"
He didn't flinch. While checking a pistol and magazine, he simply replied, "Yes."
Then he handed both to her. The cold weight of the pistol settled into her hand.
"Load it," he instructed.
Bella stared at the unfamiliar shape of the bullets, frowning slightly. "These go in the… the bottom, right?"
Ethan nodded. "Bottom of the magazine. Push them in, one at a time. Make sure they're facing forward. Thumb pressure."
She tried but fumbled the first round. The bullet slipped, and she cursed under her breath. Still, Ethan said nothing—he just stood there, arms crossed, watching her calmly.
By the third bullet, her fingers were sore, and her brow was drawn tight with frustration.
Ethan finally stepped forward and walked behind her. His voice came low, close to her ear. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Left hand under the grip. Right hand high, thumb along the slide. Elbows loose. You're not strangling the damn thing."
Bella adjusted, flustered under his quiet authority. Then she felt his hands brush hers gently, correcting her stance. His fingers were firm, guiding. Then he moved to her shoulders, placing his hands there to adjust her posture.
And suddenly, he was too close.
It was the first time they'd been this near to each other. Bella's heart pounded in her chest—fast and loud. She could feel the warmth of him behind her, steady and composed, while her own breath caught.
She turned her head slightly to look at him.
Their faces were just inches apart.
Their eyes met. And in that split second, neither of them looked away.
The world stilled.
She forgot everything—her weapon, her training, the silence around them. All she could hear was his breath mixing with hers. All she could feel was how dangerously close they were.
Her heart was thundering now.
Ethan blinked. A beat passed.
And then he realized it too.
Without a word, he stepped back, regaining his distance—controlled, composed again. He took a breath and spoke.
"Now," he said, voice steady, "see that rusted can on the log?"
Bella gave a slight nod, still trying to calm her heartbeat.
"Deep breath. Exhale halfway. Then squeeze the trigger."
She followed his instructions, focusing as best she could. The cold metal of the gun steadied her hands. She inhaled. The world narrowed to the target, the silence, and the rhythm of her own breath.
Then she fired.
The shot cracked through the room, echoing briefly even in the soundproof space. A puff of dust jumped up behind the can, which wobbled slightly but didn't fall.
"You grazed it," Ethan said. A faint ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Still counts."
Surprised pride swelled in Bella's chest.
She turned to him. "I'm not useless after all."
"You were never useless," Ethan said softly—so quietly, his words didn't even reach her.
"What?" she asked, frowning slightly.
He shook his head. "Nothing."
Then he looked at her again. "That's enough for today."