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The morning felt like it was holding its breath.
Clouds hung low and heavy over the training grounds, the kind that promised snow but hadn’t fully committed yet. The cold bit at any exposed skin, sharp enough that even Claire tugged her coat tighter around herself as she and Sherry settled into the metal bleachers. Their breath fogged in front of them, little puffs of white in the gray air.
Below them, the drill instructors moved with crisp purpose, checking positions, barking last‑minute orders, straightening lines of tape in the dirt. The moment one of them lifted his whistle, the entire field seemed to fall into a hush.
Then—
A single command cracked through the cold like a gunshot.
The doors at the far end of the field swung open, and the recruits marched out in perfect formation. Single file. Straight lines. Boots hitting the ground in unison, a steady, thunderous rhythm that rolled across the field and up into the stands. Not one of them looked left or right. Eyes forward. Faces blank. Shoulders squared.
Sherry immediately sat up straighter, practically on her knees as she leaned over the railing. Her eyes darted across the sea of identical uniforms, scanning every face, every haircut, every stride.
“Do you see him?” she whispered, though her voice trembled with excitement.
Claire shook her head slowly as her eyes narrowed, searching just as intently. “Not yet. He’s probably toward the middle somewhere. Could never truly make sense on how they divide them all up.”
Sherry huffed, fogging up the air again. “He better not be hiding. I swear, if he somehow manages to blend in—”
Another line marched out. Then another. The cadence of boots grew louder and heavier, echoing in Claire’s chest.
Sherry’s breath hitched.
“There!” she whispered fiercely, grabbing Claire’s sleeve. “There—third row, fourth from the end—Claire, that’s him!”
And it was.
Leon marched with the same rigid discipline as the others, jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead, expression unreadable. His hair was shorter than they’d ever seen it, but still the same, his posture impossibly straight, his movements sharp and controlled. He shockingly looked older, despite the ten week gap. He looked… harder. Like the young man they knew had been carved down into something leaner, quieter, and far more guarded.
But it was him.
Claire felt her chest tighten—caught between a mixture of sadness and pride that was so fierce it almost hurt.
Sherry, meanwhile, was practically vibrating next to her. “He looks so serious,” she whispered. “Like… like he’s trying not to think about anything.”
Claire nodded. “He has to. They all do.”
The recruits halted on command, rows snapping into stillness. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just a field of statues waiting for the moment they’d be allowed to break.
Sherry’s gloved hands curled around the railing. “We’re really here,” she murmured. “He’s really doing this.”
Claire smiled softly, eyes never leaving Leon. “Yeah. He is.”
She turned her head to look at Claire, a wide grin on her face. “And we get to do this with him.”
Claire couldn’t help but to smile back slightly, nodding her head. “Yeah, but that’s our secret for now.”
And somewhere down on the field, even though he didn’t look their way, even though he didn’t move a muscle. The ceremony had only just begun, but for Leon, the hardest part was just now beginning to fester within him.
The cold didn’t bother him. Not so much compared to the quiet.
Leon stood in formation, boots planted in the frozen dirt, breath steady, eyes locked forward as his superiors launched into their speeches. Their voices rose and fell—talk of honor, discipline, sacrifice—but to him it all washed together into a distant hum. None of it mattered. Not today.
He already knew how this would go.
Everyone around him had someone waiting. He had overheard the excited whispers in the barracks, the plans, the promises, the nervous jokes about who would cry first. He’d watched guys write letters home, polish their boots twice over because their moms would notice, practice how they’d stand when their girlfriends came running up.
Leon had stayed quiet through all of it.
His parents were long gone. His foster father… who know what’s become of him now.
He had no siblings. No girlfriend or anything.
No one.
This ceremony wasn’t for him. It never had been. He was only here because he had no other choice.
He kept his posture perfect—shoulders square, chin up, arms at his sides—because that was what was expected. If he let himself shift even an inch, the truth might show on his face. The truth that he was bracing for the moment everyone else would be tapped out, one by one, until he was the only one left standing.
He could already picture it: the field emptying, families laughing and crying, instructors clapping recruits on the back. And him, still frozen in place, waiting for the drill sergeant to eventually come and dismiss him like an afterthought.
He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he was used to this. He told himself he didn’t care, but beneath the stillness—beneath the rigid discipline drilled into his bones—something small and aching twisted in his chest. A loneliness that was starting to become all to familiar with him quickly. A familiar acceptance.
He didn’t blink. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t let a single emotion touch his face. He just stared straight ahead, letting the cold settle into his skin through his uniform, letting the speeches drone on, letting the minutes stretch out like hours.
Soon the speeches stopped. All the formalities - finished.
The crowd in the bleachers were dismissed, and soon the field had become a storm of motion—families pouring out of the stands, boots clattering against metal steps, voices rising with excitement and relief. But in the middle of it all, Leon remained carved from stone.
He didn’t shift still. He didn’t blink. He didn’t let himself hope.
He watched from the farthest edge of his vision as recruits around him were tapped out—mothers sobbing into their sons’ shoulders, fathers clapping their kids on the back, girlfriends leaping into arms, grandparents shuffling forward with trembling hands. Every tap echoed like a reminder.
Not for you.
Not for you.
Not for you.
He kept his breathing even, jaw locked, eyes fixed straight ahead. He’d prepared himself for this. He’d told himself it didn’t matter. He’d told himself he was fine, but the longer he stood untouched, the heavier the silence inside him grew.
Then— Movement. Small, but close.
Just below his nose level, a tiny figure stepped into his peripheral vision. Blonde hair. A familiar coat. A familiar stance—feet planted, shoulders squared like she was trying to mimic the soldiers.
Sherry.
And beside her, a flash of red hair, a steady presence he could recognize even in a crowd of thousands.
Claire.
His breath stuttered—just once, just enough that he felt it—but he didn’t break. He even stopped himself from taking a hard swallow as a mixture of relief and amazement washed over him. He couldn’t break. Not until someone released him. Not until someone chose him. He kept his eyes forward and remained unmoved.
Below him, Sherry tilted her head up, her eyes wide and confused. “Does he not see us? Why isn’t he moving?”
Claire crouched slightly, her voice gentle but firm. “He’s not allowed to move, Sherry. He has to enforce strict military discipline until he’s released. I had to do this same thing when my brother was in training for the Air Force.”
Sherry blinked up at Leon again, her breath fogging in the cold. “So… how do we release him?”
Claire smiled—soft, proud, knowing exactly what this moment meant. “Go ahead - Tap him. Anywhere.”
Sherry hesitated.
Just a heartbeat.
Just long enough for Leon to feel something in his chest twist painfully.
Then she reached out a small gloved hand that trembled just a little, and brushed her finger against the back of his hand.
It was barely a touch. A whisper of contact, but to Leon, it hit like a lightning strike. His discipline shattered. He didn’t think and didn’t breathe. More importantly, he didn’t care who was watching now.
The second he felt her, he grabbed her tiny hand and pulled her into him, dropping to one knee as he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her against his chest. His face buried into her little shoulder as he let out a deep, shaky breath, his body trembling with a relief so fierce it nearly knocked him over.
Sherry let out a squeak before she instantly melted into him, hugging him back with all the strength she had.
Claire stood above them, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes glassed over a bit—not with pity, but with pride and adoration. She knew this truly surprised him and it intended to be, but she knew deep down, it meant more to him than anyone could ever know. With the quiet, steady certainty that he had never truly been alone in this messed up situation that the three of them never accounted for.
Leon held Sherry like she was the only thing keeping him upright, because in that moment, she was.
Sherry pulled back just enough to look up at him, her little hands still fisted in the front of his uniform. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but her eyes were bright with pride.
“I tapped you out,” she announced, like she’d just won a medal herself.
It hit him harder than the hug.
Leon let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t quite a sob either — something cracked, warm and disbelieving all at once. His face softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he managed the smallest, realest smile he’d had in the last few months.
“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing a hand over the back of her head. “Yeah, you did. Good job, kiddo.”
Sherry beamed, practically glowing.
Claire stepped closer then, boots crunching in the frost‑bitten grass. Leon lifted his head at the sound, and the moment he saw her—really saw her—he stood. Not stiffly, not with the rigid posture he’d held all morning, but with a kind of quiet urgency.
He didn’t hesitate.
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in, holding her tight against him, his face buried in her hair as he took a deep breath, the scent of her grounding him in some sort of way. His eyes threatened to swell up but he swallowed hard as he tried to keep it all in.
Claire’s breath caught, her arms sliding around his back as she hugged him just as fiercely. It was the first time in awhile that they’d held each other like this—no danger, no chaos, no running for their lives. Just… relief. Reunion. Something that felt like home.
“It’s good to see you,” Leon said, voice low and rough, like he was fighting to keep it steady. “Both of you.”
Claire leaned back just enough to look up at him, her smile soft but teasing. “You survived training. I’m impressed.”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”
Sherry giggled, still clinging to his sleeve.
Leon glanced between them, confusion flickering across his face. “How… how did you two even get here? They don’t just let anyone onto base.”
Claire smirked slightly. “Simmons decided to be nice for once. He let Sherry out for awhile to come tap you out—and let me accompany her.”
Leon blinked, stunned. “Simmons… did something nice?”
“Shocking, right,” Claire said, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.
Sherry nodded vigorously. “More like I begged him. I wanted to see this and see you.”
Leon’s breath hitched again—quiet, almost invisible—but Claire saw it. Sherry felt it. And neither of them said a word about it.
They didn’t need to.
Leon pulled them both in again—one arm around Claire, the other around Sherry—holding them close as the snow finally began to fall. Cold flakes drifted down onto his hair, onto their coats, onto the field where he had expected to stand alone.
But he wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.