Vega jogged beside me near mile eight, moving backward in front of formation while shouting loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“Look alive, Mercer! You’re slowing the entire line down!”

I kept moving.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Ignore the pressure building under my ribs.

Ignore the tightening in my chest.

Ignore the old memories trying to claw upward every time pain blurred the present.

The red dirt trail briefly became another road entirely.

Another country.

Another convoy.

Smoke.

Dust.

Radio static.

I blinked hard until Georgia returned.

“You hear me?” Vega snapped. “Or are you too fragile to function?”

“I hear you, Staff Sergeant,” I managed quietly.

That only irritated him more.

Men like Vega preferred visible weakness because silence forced them to keep searching for cracks.

By mile nine, breathing became difficult enough that every inhale felt trapped halfway inside my chest.

The tissue along my ribs tightened violently beneath my uniform.

My left leg tingled.

Then partially numbed.

Still, I kept moving because stopping felt more dangerous than collapsing.

Vega stepped closer again.

“You don’t belong here, Mercer!”

Sweat rolled into my eyes while the world tilted slightly sideways.

“You have no idea what real hardship looks like!”

If my lungs had worked properly, maybe I would have laughed.

Instead, I focused on surviving another step.

Then another.

Then none at all.

The Moment Everything Changed

The ground disappeared beneath me without warning.

One second I was moving forward through thick Georgia mud, and the next the weight of my rucksack slammed me face-first into the dirt hard enough to empty my lungs completely.

Nothing came back in afterward.

I rolled onto my side instinctively, clawing at the collar of my uniform while panic surged through me sharp and immediate, because my chest simply would not expand.

Above me, Vega shouted almost instantly.

“Get up!”

Mud coated my hands as I tried pushing upward.

Failed.

Air reached my throat but nowhere deeper.

“Stop panicking and move!” he yelled again, kicking lightly against my boot. “You quit now, you embarrass the whole platoon!”

Another voice cut across the trail before I could respond.

“Back away from her.”

Vega scoffed immediately.

“She’s working the room.”

Avery ignored him completely.

His expression sharpened the second he saw my face.

“Her lips are turning blue.”

The edges of my vision darkened.

I felt Avery gripping my shoulder carefully.

“Rowan, stay with me. I need to open your uniform.”

I grabbed weakly at my collar.

No.

Not that.

Anything except that.

“Please,” I rasped.

His voice softened slightly.

“I don’t have a choice.”

Instead of undoing buttons, he pulled trauma shears from his kit and slid them beneath the fabric near my collarbone.

One quick cut.

Cool air touched my skin.

And the entire world around us changed.

The Scars Nobody Was Supposed To See
The scissors slipped from Avery’s hand into the mud.

Nobody spoke for several seconds afterward.