Page 94 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"This is going to be interesting," Jax mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I ignore him, keeping my position on the platform. From here, I can observe everything—every technique, every reaction, every potential weakness. I tell myself it's strategic, not that I'm keeping my distance from the green-eyed storm below.
"Three days," I remind them all. "Make them count."
The training proceeds in brutal eighteen-hour cycles. Cole takes the first shift, teaching Alina to catalog exits, identify potential weapons in everyday environments, and recognize surveillance. She absorbs the information quickly, her journalist's eye for detail serving her well.
Jax follows with evasive movement techniques—how to lose a tail, how to move unpredictably without appearing suspicious. His natural energy seems to break through some of her ice, earning the occasional reluctant smile when she masters a particularly difficult maneuver.
Remy's medical training is efficient but thorough—pressure points, field bandaging, recognizing the symptoms of shock. "In our line of work," he tells her, "sometimes you have to keep yourself alive long enough for extraction."
By the second day, I see the physical toll beginning to show. Dark circles form under her eyes, her movements slightly less crisp. But her determination never wavers. If anything, exhaustion makes her push harder.
Damian's session on resistance techniques is particularly grueling. He teaches her how to withstand questioning, how to feed false information convincingly, how to maintain her cover under pressure. To her credit, she doesn't break once.
"She's stubborn," Damian reports afterward. "It'll keep her alive."
Xander's explosives recognition training is mercifully brief—just enough for her to identify common devices and understand basic safety protocols. "Better to run thantry to disarm," he advises her. "Leave the heroics to the professionals."
Throughout it all, I maintain my distance, watching from the platform, occasionally stepping away to check on investigation updates. Each time I return, my eyes find her automatically, assessing her progress, noting her improvements and weaknesses.
On the third day, Asher takes her to the range. The crack of gunfire echoes through the facility as he guides her through proper stance, grip, trigger discipline. She's fired guns before—that much is obvious—but Asher refines her technique with characteristic precision.
"Breathe through the shot," his voice carries up to my position. "Don't anticipate the recoil. Let it happen."
I watch as she empties a clip into the target, her grouping tightening with each magazine. Asher nods in silent approval, making minute adjustments to her form.
"Not bad," he says finally, his highest form of praise.
By the end of the third day, she's swaying slightly on her feet, exhaustion evident in every line of her body. But there's something else there too—a new confidence, a deadlier grace to her movements.
The team gathers for a final assessment, each reporting on her progress in their area. I listen silently, cataloging the information.
"She's ready?" I finally ask, my gaze fixed on Alina, who meets my eyes unflinchingly despite her fatigue.
"As ready as anyone can be in three days," Cole answers carefully.
"Good enough." I straighten from my position against the wall. "Bennett, get some rest. Tomorrow we put it all together."
She nods once, professional despite everything, and turns toward the elevator. I catch Asher's eye as she leaves.
"Your assessment?"
He considers for a moment, his expression unreadable. "She learns fast. Adapts well. More importantly, she has the instinct." He pauses. "She'll survive."
Coming from Asher, it's practically a glowing recommendation. I nod, something tight in my chest easing slightly.
The team disperses, heading back to their stations, but Cole lingers, waiting until we're alone.
"You should talk to her," he says quietly. "This tension isn't good for the mission."
I shoot him a look that would make most men back down. Cole just waits, immune after years of working together.
"The mission is what matters," I finally reply. "Not hurt feelings."
Cole shakes his head slightly. "Keep telling yourself that."
I watch him walk away, hating that he might be right. But some wounds aren't ready to be addressed, and some risks I'm not prepared to take. Not yet.
