(Evelina's POV — Tactical Training Center, Day 2—Private Range)
BANG.
The first bullet of the day hit the outer rim of the target.
Not awful. But not the center. And I didn't need to look to know Rowan saw it.
His voice was low and controlled. "Again."
Not irritated.
Not impressed.
Just demanding.
I reloaded, lifted the gun, and fired again.
BANG.
Closer, but still imperfect. Rowan didn't sigh. Didn't frown. He didn't even blink.
"Again."
I fired. Again. Again. Again.
Each bullet cut through the air like a stopwatch ticking down to my life expectancy at Theo's casino. But after the fifteenth shot, Rowan stepped forward and placed his hand over the muzzle of the gun, pushing it down.
"That's enough."
My breath was shaky from focus, not exhaustion. My arm trembled slightly. I didn't like that.
He took the gun out of my hand without asking—not dominant, not rude—just confident enough that asking was not required.
"You're progressing faster than expected," he said.
