The whistle Boone held was one of those coach ones, silver and too loud for the space. He put it to his lips.
"If I see anyone half-assing it, you're running laps until you puke. Clear?"
"Clear."
The word came out flat from twenty different throats at once. Nobody wanted to find out if he was serious. He probably was.
"Good." Boone pointed toward three separate corners of the training floor. "Team One, Station Alpha. Team Two, Station Beta. Team Three, Station Gamma. Move."
We walked toward Beta. It was a cordoned-off square in the far corner of the gym, marked with orange cones and caution tape that looked more decorative than functional. Inside the boundary were training dummies in various states of wear, an obstacle course made of foam blocks and metal bars, and a miniature building facade that looked like someone had built a two-story apartment out of plywood and prayer.
Reeves stood next to it with a tablet in one hand. She didn't look up when we got close.
