The base was oddly silent; the parade square held no marching soldiers. Perhaps it was late. Reverie was in the training bay, punching a target until her hands ached.

Maybe she should have worn gloves.

Keegan, her sergeant, walked in, looking to burn some energy before sleep. Training was always necessary. As he moved through his own drills, his eyes flicked to his subordinate. She wasn’t bad, but she could use pointers—of course, he wouldn’t be the one to give them.

Minutes stretched into hours. By the end, they were the only two left in the training bay.