Six in the morning came the way it always did lately, which was too fast and with Misato's voice already in my ears before I'd fully crossed the field.
"You're four minutes late, Monroe. Four laps for four minutes. Move."
I stopped at the field's edge. Misato waited there, lime green ponytail pulled tight, arms crossed in that specific way she had when she'd woken up spoiling for conflict. Her tactical shorts had grass stains from yesterday. The squad was scattered across the turf in various states of misery. Jordan lay flat on his back like someone had cut his strings. Belle stretched her hamstrings with all the enthusiasm of a tax audit. Naomi was already warm, loose, her braid actually holding because I'd fixed it this morning while she pretended to sleep.
Then there were the new additions.
