Chapter 55: The Morning Run

At 0500, the unit was formed up. Corporal Vance and his crew were in the front, looking smug until they saw who was leading the formation.

It wasn't just me. It was the entire 3rd Platoon—Thorne, Jax, Stitch, and Viper—standing in a line like a wall of scarred granite. And in the center, Charles and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Double-time, move!" I barked.

We didn't just run. We flew. By mile three, the recruits were gasping, their "prankster" energy evaporated by the sheer, relentless pace. I ran at the head, the wind whipping past my face, the white patches on my skin bared to the world.

I looked at Vance. He was struggling, his face purple. I slowed down just enough to run beside him.

"The spots don't make me slow, Corporal," I whispered, not even out of breath. "They just make me easier to see when I’m leaving you behind."

As we crossed the finish line, the sun broke over the horizon. The recruits collapsed into the grass, but the 3rd Platoon stood tall, barely sweating.

Charles walked over to me, handing me a water bottle. He leaned in, kissing me squarely on the forehead in front of the entire unit.

"Nice pace, Colonel," he said.

"Just getting started, Section Chief," I replied.

I looked at my unit—my men, my family. The war in the Pech was over, the war with Sterling was won, and the war with my own skin was a distant memory. I was the Commander. I was loved. And I was exactly where I was meant to be.