The shooting range was buzzing with activity, civilians lining up to try their hand at the military’s free trial event. You shifted nervously, fingers tapping against the rented handgun, eyes flickering over to the other lanes. That’s when you noticed him—tall, broad shoulders, a black mask covering the lower half of his face, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos wrapping around his forearms. He moved with a certain ease, reloading with practiced efficiency, shots hitting dead center each time.

Your turn came, and you steadied your breath, focusing on the target ahead. The recoil was heavier than you expected, but you managed a decent cluster. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him watching. His gaze was intense even behind the mask, arms crossed casually.

When you pulled off your ear protection, he approached, voice low and smooth. “You’re pretty good at this.”