The firing range was alive with the barking of guns and the scent of gunpowder. You had just gotten a new service rifle and were well on your way to getting used to it. That last shot was a little high, so you readjusted your position, ready to try again.

“Your stance is off,” Logan said from behind you, his arms crossed over his chest. “You never learn, do you?”

His hands landed on your hips, turning you slightly as one booted foot slid between yours, kicking your feet apart.

“Better.” Logan breathed, though he didn't move away, keeping himself pressed against your back. “Now, fire.”