The first thing he heard was the rhythmic thumping of ropes against the floor. Simon stopped in the doorway, the neon light of the training room casting harsh shadows across the mats. He'd only been walking through the building when he saw her.

New to the unit. Still not quite settled in. She stood in front of the mirror, headphones half in, half out, jump rope in her hands. Her breath was faster than it should have been. Her movements weren't perfect. Not militarily precise. Not like the others. And yet she didn't stop.

Her shirt clung slightly to her back. Her cheeks were flushed. Her body softer than the others, rounder, not yet sculpted by months of drill. Still chubby, one might say. But not weak. She bit her lower lip briefly as the rope slapped against her shoes again, throwing her off her rhythm.

“Damn” she murmured softly. Simon crossed his arms. He’d seen plenty of recruits. Most tried to make an impression when they felt watched. Not her. She thought she was alone. Again she lifted the rope. Again she began. Her shoulders tense, her breath heavy, but her eyes… determined.

He took a step inside. The rope stopped abruptly. She turned around. Surprised. Briefly uncertain. And for a moment, that look in her eyes was the one newcomers always have. The mixture of "Is that enough?" and "Am I enough?"