Chapter 854

Sloane’s face, which had been alight with cruel anticipation, fell into a mask of deep disappointment and fury. This wasn’t what she wanted. She had planned for a deep, ragged gash, a trip to the infirmary, weeks of recovery. Not this insignificant scratch.

But she was trapped by her role. She had to play the part of the concerned instructor.

She and Instructor Sharpe rushed forward. Sharpe’s face was etched with genuine concern. Sloane’s was a tight mask of barely controlled rage.

Sloane grabbed Caroline’s hand, her grip bruising. She saw the shallow wound and sneered. “What’s the matter, Thompson? A little scared of the noise?”

Caroline looked down, her voice trembling with practiced shame. “I’m sorry, Instructor. The recoil… it was stronger than I expected.”

The act was perfect. There were no holes in her story.

Sloane, unable to find any fault in the performance, channeled her frustration into official punishment.

“On the battlefield, your weapon is your life!” she roared, her voice echoing across the now-silent range. “And you just dropped it!”

Instructor Sharpe, falling back into her role, added sternly, “That’s a major safety violation, Thompson! You could have injured yourself or someone else!”

Caroline stood silently, absorbing the verbal assault, her mind a calm sea.

Sloane knew her plan had failed, but she had to salvage some form of victory.

“For your gross incompetence and failure to control your weapon,” Sloane announced, “you will perform push-ups for two hours. Maybe that will teach your muscles how to work.”

It was a harsh punishment, but one that was technically justified by the rules.

Caroline knew this was the most Sloane could do now. It was a small price to pay.

“Yes, Instructor,” she said, her voice quiet and submissive.

She walked to the designated punishment area at the side of the range and began her push-ups, her form perfect, her rhythm steady.

She had lost the battle of appearances, but she had won the war. She had protected her body, protected her secret, and thwarted Sloane’s malicious plan. All it had cost her was two hours of her time.

Caroline’s push-ups were a study in perfect form. Her back was straight, her movements fluid and controlled. Her breathing was even. She showed no signs of strain, and this silent display of endurance was a fresh irritant to Sloane, who watched from the sidelines with a simmering rage.

Brenna O’Malley couldn’t stand it anymore. She broke from the formation, her face a mask of righteous fury.

“Report, Instructors!” she shouted, her voice ringing across the silent range. “This wasn’t Thompson’s fault! It was your instruction!”

A collective gasp went through the squad. To publicly challenge an instructor’s competence was unthinkable.

Instructor Sharpe’s face hardened. “O’Malley, get back in rank!”

But Brenna stood her ground, her fear eclipsed by her loyalty. “That grip was wrong, and you know it! You were trying to get her hurt!”

Caroline paused mid-push-up, shooting Brenna a sharp, warning look. Stop. But Brenna ignored her.

A slow, cold smile spread across Sloane’s face. “Oh? It seems we have a firearms expert in our midst.”