The third day should feel easier.
My body has started to adjust. The rhythm of training isn't unfamiliar anymore. The fatigue is still there—but it no longer gets in the way like it did on the first day.
At least, that's how it's supposed to be.
I stand in the same spot as the last two days.
Side of the room.
Back straight. Breathing steady.
Without thinking, I already know where he'll stand.
And I'm right.
The footsteps come again.
Same rhythm.
Not rushed.
Not slow.
He stops in the same place.
Slightly to the left.
I don't turn.
Don't need to.
The instructor walks in on time.
"Starting today, you won't be evaluated on results alone."
A few people tense immediately.
"How you work will determine whether you stay."
Silence.
"Small mistakes can be corrected. Bad patterns can't."
I listen just enough.
Not everything needs to be overanalyzed.
"Today's simulation is different. Tighter. Faster. More… uncomfortable."
A few people exchange glances.
"Pairs remain the same."
I take a slow breath.
No change.
Good.
—
The simulation room is darker than before.
Narrow corridors. Walls closer in. Fewer light sources.
Movement feels restricted.
Small mistakes will show immediately.
I take the front position.
Leon doesn't move right away.
One second.
Two.
Then he shifts slightly behind me.
Not beside.
Behind.
I notice.
Without turning.
Strange.
In previous days, he was always on the left.
Now he isn't.
I don't say anything.
We move in.
Slow steps.
Slower than usual.
I stop at the first corner.
Listening.
Nothing.
I signal.
Wait.
Leon doesn't move.
I step forward.
Then another.
Something feels different.
I just don't know what yet.
Until a faint sound comes from behind.
Barely there.
But enough.
I turn.
Leon isn't where he was.
He's already moved to the other side of the corridor.
Faster than I expected.
He didn't wait for instruction.
Not like before.
I pause for a second.
Watch.
He clears that side on his own.
Clean.
Fast.
Efficient.
We return to the main path.
No words.
—
Mission complete.
Not a failure.
But not the same as yesterday.
The instructor watches us a second longer.
"Out of sync."
Short.
Not loud.
But clear.
I don't respond.
Neither does Leon.
We return to position.
This time—
he doesn't immediately take the left.
There's a slight pause.
Then he shifts.
Left again.
Like nothing happened.
I face forward.
But my focus isn't fully there.
—
The next tests move quickly.
More pressure.
Less time to think.
I adjust.
Like always.
But something keeps pulling at my attention.
Timing.
He doesn't move with me anymore.
Sometimes faster.
Sometimes deliberately late.
Like he's… trying something.
Or testing.
I don't know.
And it bothers me.
—
Break.
I stand like usual.
Drink.
Control my breathing.
Leon is beside me.
Quiet.
As always.
I close the bottle.
Then—
"Why did you move ahead earlier?"
I don't look at him when I speak.
The question slips out.
Unplanned.
He doesn't answer right away.
A few seconds.
"Faster."
Short.
"Not efficient."
I keep my eyes forward.
"Efficient."
His tone doesn't change.
I finally glance at him.
He's still looking straight ahead.
Not at me.
I hold for a second.
"If our timing's off, it creates an opening."
Silence.
Then—
"I know."
Simple.
Not defensive.
Not agreeing either.
I exhale slowly.
Look away again.
Conversation over.
But not really.
—
The rest of the training passes without much change.
We still work together.
But not the same.
There's a distance.
Thin.
Hard to see.
But it's there.
And I notice it more than I should.
—
When we leave the building, our steps still fall in sync.
No change on the outside.
Only… underneath.
I slow down slightly.
He matches it.
I pick up pace.
He does the same.
Reflex.
Still there.
I stop at the intersection.
He does too.
A few seconds.
Longer than usual.
"I don't need to be saved."
The words come out sharper than I intend.
He finally turns.
For the first time today.
His eyes meet mine.
Calm.
Unchanged.
"I'm not saving you."
Immediate.
I hold his gaze.
One second.
Two.
"If you step out of line again," I say quietly, "I won't adjust."
Silence.
He doesn't answer right away.
His gaze doesn't shift.
"Fine."
One word.
Nothing more.
I give a small nod.
Turn away.
—
That night feels quieter than usual.
I sit at the edge of the bed.
Same position.
But my thoughts aren't as still as yesterday.
I replay the simulation.
His steps.
His movement.
The shift in timing.
Why.
The question lingers.
Doesn't leave.
I don't like that.
I don't like things I can't predict.
I don't like changes in pattern.
I exhale slowly.
It's just training.
It doesn't mean anything.
I stand.
Turn off the lights.
Lie down.
Stare into the dark.
…
But for the first time—
I notice something small.
Something I didn't expect.
I'm paying attention to him
more than I should.