Page 114 of Silver Elite

We’re in the air for less than an hour before it’s time to land. We touch down on a narrow strip and climb into trucks that take us to the Command’s desert camp. The area is not a flat expanse, but a lot of hills and craggy outcrops. We were given another set of uniforms this morning—desert fatigues. I have to admit it’s nice to wear something other than navy blue or black. The new getup makes it easier to blend in to this landscape.

We start with easy targets, and I nail all my shots. I do well enough that Jones raises a brow and drawls, “Someone’s been practicing after hours.”

Someone’s been making shots like that since she was ten years old.

Kess sneers. “It’s just a fluke.”

“I’ve been up all night reading sniper tips on my source,” I lie. “How to account for the wind. Different magnifications. It’s actually a lot more interesting than I thought.”

Kaine’s biting his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. Lash looks doubtful. Meanwhile, Lyddie’s eyes are bright with hope.

“See, I told you you’ve got potential! And sometimes bookscanteach you things!”

Oh, this girl. I always want to give her a hug. She’s growing on mein a way I never thought possible. She’s just so…positive. Yes, she likes to gossip, but her heart is enormous.

“Let’s reposition to higher ground,” Ford barks. “One pair at a time. Darlington, Eversea. You’re up first.”

Great. I’m paired with Ivy.

From her sour expression, she’s not happy about it, either.

I sling the rifle strap over my shoulder and head for the path. The two of us make the climb up to the next perch, where I glance at her and say, “You want to spot first?”

“Fine,” she mutters.

I position myself on my belly with the rifle in front of me. It’s the REMM-4 that I’m obsessed with. I wish we were doing this in the shroud of darkness so I could test out that night sight, but I suppose a day exercise offers everyone a better introduction to the New and Improved Recruit 56.

Ivy settles beside me with a pair of binoculars as the blistering sun beats down on our heads. We lie prone on top of the outcrop, our camo uniforms blending seamlessly with the arid landscape. The desert stretches out before us, a vast expanse of hills, sun-bleached sand, and jagged rocks, the horizon shimmering in the relentless heat. Despite how barren it is, it’s oddly gorgeous out here.

Squinting against the glare, I adjust the scope of the rifle, my fingers trembling with anticipation. It feels like forever since I’ve had the opportunity to shoot. I’ve been firing guns every day for weeks, yet there was no thrill. No excitement to take—andmake—a challenging shot.

Now I’ve given myself permission to rely on my instincts. Or rather, the Uprising has.

I feel freer than I have in a very long time.

Ivy adjusts her binoculars, scanning the horizon for our first target. We don’t know ahead of time where the targets are. It’s the job of the spotter to locate them. We each get five shots, and all the targets are outfitted with sensors that will relay to our instructors where we hit.

“Target one acquired,” Ivy says.

“Where?”

“At your two o’clock, about five hundred yards out.” A hint of challenge laces her tone. “Might be too much for you. The wind sucks.”

No shit. Tiny grains of sand keep flying into my face. This is a terrible day to shoot. Or maybe the windy weather is precisely why Ford chose today for long-range targets.

“I think I can manage.” I locate the target in my scope. It looks like a sandbag on a pole.

With a steady hand, I adjust my aim again to compensate for the wind and the distance. The crosshairs settle on the target’s chest, a perfect bull’s-eye in my sights. My finger hovers over the trigger, waiting for the perfect moment. Finally, I squeeze the trigger, and the shot rings out across the landscape.

The bullet cuts through the wind with lethal precision.

Dead center.

Ivy swivels her head toward me.

“Been practicing,” I say lightly. “Where’s target two?”

“Six o’clock. Six hundred yards.”

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