Tessa hadn't meant to open the footage again.
She'd told herself it didn't matter. That people had good days — sharp reflexes, lucky guesses. That Hernan — golden boy, laughing eyes, always composed — had simply nailed the sim. Nothing more.
But something about the way he moved had been wrong.
Not just perfect. Premeditated.
The training footage played silently across her dorm wall, projected from her tablet into air. The screen shimmered faintly, light spilling across the darkened room. She sat cross-legged on her bed, sweatpants and hoodie still damp from her cooldown run. A half-finished protein shake sat on the floor beside her.
She hovered over the scrub bar. Dragged it back.
Timestamp: 00:13.42
Enemy drone unit dropped from the western wall fixture.
Tessa advanced frame by frame. Hernan had already pivoted before the wall opened. His blast was halfway charged by the time the drone was even visible.
Not reaction.
Prediction.
