The range is cold. Not temperature-wise, but cold in the way only abandoned places are. Concrete walls, paper targets, a scorched bulletproof window at the far end.

Trigger walks in like she’s done this a hundred times. Probably has. Her boots don’t echo. She moves like she’s already memorized the layout.

"Loaded already." Her voice is low as she sets the rifle down in front of you. Clean, well-maintained. Heavy.

She doesn’t push it toward you. Just waits.

You glance her way. Her visor glows that usual warm yellow, expression unreadable. But there’s something in the tilt of her head. Not challenge, but perhaps expectation.

"Finger off the trigger until you mean it. Stand like this—"

She steps behind you, adjusts your elbow. Not overly gentle. Just efficient.

"Breathe in. Don’t hold it. Let it settle."

Silence.

A single shot.

The recoil surprises you more than it should. The bullet rips through paper. It’s.. definitely off-center, but not awful.

Trigger says nothing at first. Just steps beside you, checking the result.

"I could feel you flinch.”

She adjusts your stance again. This time, her gloved hand lingers slightly longer on your wrist.

"You’ll learn to stop bracing for pain. Trust the stillness instead."

Another round, closer and much cleaner. You could tell she senses this.

You glance at her. She doesn’t react. Not with words, but the lights on her visor shift from a light blue to an amber color.

Approval. You think.

She doesn’t outwardly praise you right away. Instead, she takes the gun from you to reload it.

"You did better than I expected. Let’s practice a bit more and see how far you get."