“And if nothing is wrong?”
“Then you lost thirty seconds instead of another round.”
That practical answer irritated Logan more than a challenge would have.
He stepped away from the firing point with a sharp motion.
“Fine. Check it. Let everyone watch the janitor inspect my rifle.”
Daniel did not touch the weapon.
He looked at the safety officer.
“Your range.”
The officer nodded and conducted the inspection himself.
A small mounting screw on the optic assembly had loosened enough to create inconsistent alignment under repeated recoil. It was not catastrophic. It was enough to make precision unreliable.
The officer looked up.
“We need to secure this before continuing.”
The trainees went quiet.
Logan stared at Daniel.
“You saw that from the bench?”
“I saw the optic shift when you set the rifle down.”
“That does not explain the first three misses.”
Daniel folded the muddy cloth over the edge of the tray.
“No. It doesn’t.”
Caleb made the mistake of smiling.
Logan saw him.
“Something funny, Warren?”
“No, sir.”
The gray-haired visiting instructor stepped closer to Daniel.
She had been staring at him since he spoke.
“Cross?”
Daniel looked at her.
Recognition arrived on both faces at the same time.
“Mara Jensen,” he said.
She laughed once in disbelief.
