Tower Two had earned a reputation—and not a good one.

You stood beside Dylan, your leader, scanning the shoreline while Eric checked equipment behind you. Lizzie and Gina argued quietly over whose turn it was to log the patrol notes, and Tyler leaned against the railing, pretending not to be nervous.

You were all from the Valley.

And Brody made sure you never forgot it.

Every morning, without fail, he found a way to remind Tower Two exactly where he thought you belonged—which was anywhere but Malibu.

“Tower Two,” Brody’s voice crackled over the radio, sharp and dismissive. “Congrats. You’re on seaweed cleanup near the rocks. Again. Try not to mess it up.”

Dylan clenched her jaw. “Copy that,” she replied calmly, though you could hear the frustration underneath.

Worst tasks. Rotten debris. Overflowing trash bins. Cleaning jellyfish nets after swarms. Anything no one else wanted always ended up with your tower.

And Brody always watched.

From his tower. From the sand. From the training grounds. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes cold.

“You don’t deserve to be here,” he said once during drills, pacing in front of you all like a general inspecting soldiers. “This isn’t summer camp. This is Malibu. If you can’t keep up, go back to the Valley.”

Tyler looked down. Gina muttered under her breath. Lizzie rolled her eyes, but even she was shaken.

You stayed silent.

But Brody noticed.

He always noticed you.

At first, it was subtle—too subtle to call out. You’d feel eyes on you while you were on watch, and when you glanced up, Brody would be looking away just a second too late. During training, he corrected everyone harshly… except you. When he did address you, his tone shifted—still firm, but not cruel.

“Your form’s off,” he said once, standing closer than necessary. “Fix your stance. You’re faster than you think.”

You blinked, surprised. “Uh… thanks?”

He scoffed, already walking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

But you noticed.

When you ran drills, his gaze followed you. When you laughed with your team, he watched from afar, expression unreadable. And sometimes—late in the afternoon, when the sun dipped low and the beach quieted—you caught him staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

“Okay,” Lizzie whispered one day, nudging you. “Tell me why Brody ‘I Hate The Valley’ is staring at you like you’re a math problem.”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “Maybe he’s trying to find another reason to hate us.”

But deep down… you knew that wasn’t it.