Page 116 of Silver Elite

I lick my suddenly dry lips. Taking out a target from this distance,with the wind howling and the sun beating down on us—it’s reckless, even for me.

I adjust my stance as I peer through the scope again. The canteen’s outline is blurred by the heat haze that dances on the horizon. The wind snakes underneath my ponytail, adding another layer of complexity to an already daunting task.

You only live once, right?

I take the shot.

An explosion of water shoots out in all directions as I puncture a hole in the metal. Liquid pools on the table and splashes the dirt beneath it.

I smile.

Silence falls over the comm channel.

Ivy’s expression is a mix of shock and disbelief. Through the scope, I see the surprise mirrored in Ford’s eyes. But not Cross’s. His lips curve, and then I hear his voice in my earpiece.

“Nobody likes a show-off, Dove.”

—

I killed it today. Indisputably. And yet, when we check our scores for the day in the mess hall later, the readout staring back at me from the screen doesn’t make a lick of sense.

Sixty-five percent.

I bolt to my feet and stomp over to the table where our instructors are chatting among themselves.

“Not a single other recruit in this class could make the shot I made today,” I growl at them. “And you gave me a sixty-five? Are you joking?”

Xavier Ford lifts his head, dark eyes glinting with humor. “The captain was the one scoring you today. Take it up with him.”

Fucking asshole.

—

I score a 70 after our next Combat class, despite slamming Ivy’s ethereal face into the mats.

Seventy-two in Moving Targets, despite only missing three shots out of thirty.

Sixty-five in Archery. I deserve that one.

Knife Throwing? Sixty-two! That one is wholly unwarranted. My knives sank into every target like a blade through butter. Perfection.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” I complain at afternoon meal after enduring more than a week of mediocre scores.

Lyddie chews her mashed potatoes and tries to reassure me. “No. The instructors are fair. They wouldn’t give you low scores for no reason.”

That’s exactly what Cross is doing. And he enlisted the other instructors to follow his lead.

It’s infuriating. Now that I’m making a sincere effort, it isn’t being recognized. I might not be an overachiever like Lyddie or Bryce, but I deserve recognition, damn it.

In shielding class, I’m somewhat mollified when Amira tells me I have the strongest shield of anyone in here.

“It’s truly impressive,” she says, and I pretend to blush at the encouragement when really, it had better be impressive. I trained with Julian Ash.

Every time I see Amira, the temptation to reach out gets stronger, but I refuse to endanger myself after what happened to Betima. I can’t be too careful. Today, though, it occurs to me that I now possess the ability to verify the risk.

I check in with Declan after class to ask,“Is Amira a network operative? Is she undercover here?”

His response is not at all useful.“We cannot divulge the identities of our operatives.”

---