Kaden woke to the ship breathing.

  For a second he thought he was back in the Academy bunks, caught between a bad sim and a worse alarm. Then the sound threaded itself into focus: the low, rolling hum of Valiant’s power spine, the faint clack of a ventilation vane somewhere above, the whisper of someone shifting in the bunk across.

  His HUD blinked on as his eyes opened.

  TIME: 05:28 SHIP

  ALERT: 3RD SHOCK – MORNING PT 06:00

  LOCATION: MARINE DECK MUSTER POINT

  He stared at it for a breath, then rolled out of the bunk before his brain could suggest staying put.

  The deck was cold on bare feet. He dragged open the drawer with his PT gear, hauled on shorts and a moisture-wicking top printed with a small, faded Hegemony eagle over the left pec. Someone in supply had guessed his size right; either Aurora had suggested it, or whoever handled uniforms had too much time on their hands.

  Navarro’s feet hit the deck one bunk over.

  “I hate mornings,” she said, voice rough with sleep.

  “You hate everything before six,” Kaden said automatically.

  “Yeah, but mornings most of all,” she muttered.

  On the other side of the bay, Vos dropped from his bunk, expression neutral as he started dressing. Tanaka stepped down a moment later, landing with a dull thud that made the frame rattle. He pulled on his PT top without hurry, movements efficient, economical.

  Kaden laced his shoes, fingers finding the rhythm without thinking. The air was cooler than the Academy dorms had ever been, a dry, scrubbed chill that made his breath fog the tiniest bit when he huffed out.

  By 05:45, Theta-3 stepped out into the corridor together. No one said “move as a squad,” but breaking up into ones and twos would have felt wrong. They clustered, hesitated, then drifted in the same direction.

  The marine deck’s main corridor was busier than Kaden had expected at that hour. Marines in PT gear spilled out of different bays, squad tags flickering: Theta-1, Theta-2, Theta-4. Some faces looked like they’d slept. Some looked like they hadn’t bothered.

  Korovec waited at the T-junction that fed into the main run spine, hands on hips, a datapad stuck to the bulkhead beside her. A thin green AR line had appeared along the deck, running down the corridor, bending around a far corner.

  ROUTE: 3RD SHOCK – SHIP FAMILIARIZATION RUN (AM)

  DISTANCE: VARIABLE – MULTI-DECK

  “Form it up,” Korovec called as they approached. “Platoon column. Theta-1 up front, Theta-2 next, Theta-3, Theta-4.”

  Theta-1 and Theta-2 sorted themselves with the ease of people who’d done this on more than one hull. Theta-3 fell in where told, four across as far as the corridor allowed: Tanaka on the outside, then Vos, Navarro, Kaden closest to the bulkhead. The spacing was a little awkward, but it held.

  Jax appeared from a side passage, hair still damp, PT top darkened at the collar. She slid in alongside Korovec, arms folded. She didn’t move to the head of the formation; this was Korovec’s show and everyone knew it.

  Korovec ran her gaze down the length of the platoon, checking spacing and shirts, not lingering on anyone in particular.

  “This is not about your feelings,” she said. “This is about you not getting lost like idiots later. We’re running a loop. You will remember it. Valiant will remember it. Aurora will remember every time your pace drops because you got distracted by a viewport.”

  She tapped the datapad. The green line brightened.

  “At my mark,” Korovec said. “Keep your spacing. Don’t sprint the first leg. This is not a race. This is a tour with consequences.”

  She raised her voice.

  “Move!”

  The column lurched into motion.

  The first stretch of corridor was straight and mildly inclined, the kind of run that lied to your legs. Kaden settled into a pace that felt sustainable, breaths counting in his head. Two in through the nose, two out through the mouth.

  His HUD logged quietly.

  HEART RATE: 114 BPM → 129 BPM

  ROUTE CHECKPOINT 1: MARINE DECK – COMPLETE

  Theta-1’s backs bobbed ahead of them, Theta-2 just beyond that. He saw heads, shoulders, the occasional flash of ink along a calf or forearm. No one spoke for the first minute or two.

  The green line led them past the gym entrance. The hatch was open, the interior dim, machines sitting like patient torture devices waiting their turn. A faint smell of rubber and recycled sweat drifted out.

  “Gym,” Korovec’s voice came from behind them, breath steady. She was jogging with the formation, not leading it. “Where you go when the run doesn’t hurt enough. Remember its location. Your squad leaders will find creative ways to make you hate it. Theta-3, consider that a promise.”

  Tanaka huffed a short, knowing sound.

  “She will,” he said, just loud enough for their four to hear.

  “Jax likes stacking gym after sims, when your legs already hate you.”

  Kaden shot him a quick look, but Tanaka’s eyes stayed ahead.

  “Different squad,” he said. “Same Jax.”

  The route hooked right at the next junction and sloped upward. Ladders loomed at intervals, vertical shafts marked with hazard stripes.

  “Ladder Charlie,” Korovec called as they passed the first. “Marine deck to pod level. You will climb it half-asleep and half-dead and still beat the clock. Not today. Today we run past.”

  Kaden’s legs started to burn as the incline steepened. Tanaka’s breathing stayed even beside him. Navarro’s breath came quicker, but she kept pace, jaw tight. Vos’s steps grew heavier; Kaden heard a small, annoyed exhale from him but no complaint.

  The corridor widened ahead, then spilled them into a broader space with an open hatch on the left. A small plaque next to it caught Kaden’s eye as they passed, its text floating into his HUD with a proximity ping.

  MARINE CHAPEL – 3RD SHOCK / GENERAL USE

  Korovec’s voice cut through the slap of boots.

  “Chapel,” she said. “Multi-use. For when you want to talk to gods, Aurora, or the wall. Or all three. Next door—look right.”

  The green line dipped them past an adjoining space with no door, just an open frame in the bulkhead. As they ran by, Kaden couldn’t help flicking a glance inside.

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  One wall was taken up entirely by names.

  Not screens. Not a HUD overlay. Just gleaming metal etched with line after line of text, each name the same size, same font. Some sections looked older, the metal dulled by time and touch. Others shone brighter, the laser etching crisp. There were blank bands between them where new names would slot in.

  He caught a few at random before the view slid past.

  SGT. L. ROJAS – THETA-3

  PFC. I. DARMAN – THETA-3

  CPL. A. BAE – THETA-5

  The green line didn’t slow; neither did Korovec.

  “Memorial wall,” she said. “You pass it every time you go up to pods or down to services. Those are the people who used to do your job. You don’t need to stop today. You’ll stop another time. Keep moving.”

  Kaden realized he’d turned his head a fraction too far and brushed his shoulder against the bulkhead. He corrected his line. Navarro’s elbow tapped his arm.

  “Eyes forward,” she puffed, not unkindly.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  They climbed another subtle grade, then hit a ladder well proper. The green line turned straight into it and shot up along the vertical shaft like someone had nailed a rail of light to the rungs.

  Korovec’s voice came again.

  “Up!” she called. “Hands and feet. No traffic jams. Two points of contact minimum. If you fall, try not to take anyone with you.”

  Theta-1 hit the ladder and flowed upward, marines peeling into the shaft with practiced speed. Theta-2 followed. Theta-3 reached the base; the green line pulsed like an impatient heartbeat.

  Tanaka grabbed the ladder and started up. Vos went after him, movements efficient if not enthusiastic. Navarro shot Kaden a quick look, more nerves than bravado, then launched herself onto the rungs.

  Kaden’s hands closed on cold metal. His shoulders protested almost immediately. The shaft smelled faintly of lubricant and old metal, with a hint of something burned deep in the structure.

  He climbed.

  Boots above him, boots below. If anyone slipped, it would be a mess. He tried not to think about it and focused on the rhythm. Reach, pull, step, step. Breathe. Reach, pull.

  His HUD ticked.

  ROUTE CHECKPOINT 2: LADDER CHARLIE – COMPLETE

  They emerged on the pod level breathing harder, hearts pounding. The corridor up here was broader, lined with bulky doors every twenty meters. Each was marked with a big, stenciled numeral and a smaller tag above the frame:

  POD BANK A1 – SHOCK INSERTION

  POD BANK A2 – SHOCK INSERTION

  The green line ran down the center.

  “Pods,” Korovec called. Her voice sounded like she’d done this too many times to count. “Your way off this hull when we go visit the Opposition. You will learn which bank is yours. You will learn exactly how many steps it takes from marine deck hatch to your pod door.”

  The line curved them past Pod Bank A3, then A4. Some of the pod doors bore scrapes and scorch marks that hadn’t been buffed fully out, like someone had been in a hurry refitting them.

  Vos let out a slow breath.

  “Those are… recent,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

  Tanaka didn’t look at him.

  “Keep pace,” he said.

  They looped the pod ring, then the green line dove toward another ladder and back down. This one opened into a corridor with larger hatches, thick doors marked with medical symbols and hazard warnings.

  “Med bay,” Korovec said as they pounded past a pair of open doors. Kaden didn’t see inside, just the flash of white coats and gleaming equipment, the faint antiseptic bite to the air. “If you’re conscious and someone says ‘med bay,’ you haul ass here. Don’t lie to your medic about how bad it is. Don’t lie to med either. They know when Aurora’s logs and your mouth don’t match.”

  Kaden filed the routes without meaning to, his brain building a map from strain and effort. Marine deck to chapel. Chapel to memorial wall. Wall to ladder. Ladder to pods. Pods to med bay. The connections etched deeper than any flat schematic.

  His lungs burned. His legs felt like someone had poured slow-setting concrete into them. Tanaka kept going with that same steady, implacable pace. Navarro was gritting her teeth, sweat plastering short hairs at her temples. Vos’s breathing had gone ragged, but he stayed in line, jaw clenched, saying nothing.

  The green line finally turned back toward familiar decking. Kaden recognized the corridor toward the marine deck hatch by the scuffs on the floor and the faint sharp odor of cleaning agents.

  “Last stretch,” Korovec called. “If you’ve got anything left, you can spend it now. If you don’t, stay upright and keep moving. Aurora’s already logged your baseline. You don’t get to pretend earlier didn’t happen by sprinting the last ten meters.”

  Kaden dug for a little more speed anyway, just out of spite. His body didn’t have much to give, but he tightened his stride enough not to fall behind Navarro. Tanaka didn’t change pace at all. Vos pushed a hair, then held.

  They spilled back into the marine deck crossway with the gym, the squad bays, and Korovec’s preferred patch of bulkhead. The green line faded.

  Kaden slowed to a walk, hands on his hips, chest heaving.

  ROUTE: COMPLETE

  BASELINE TIME: LOGGED

  Sweat trickled down his spine beneath his shirt. His heart hammered in his ears, then gradually took its rightful place back in his chest.

  Korovec paced in front of the returning platoon, looking irritatingly controlled. A thin sheen of sweat darkened her collar, but that was it.

  “Not the worst first run I’ve seen,” she said. “Not the best. No one threw up on the deck, so we’ll call it a cautious success.”

  Someone in Theta-2 coughed and bent over, spitting to the side.

  “On the paint, Kantor,” Korovec snapped without even looking. “If you’re going to decorate my corridor, aim for the drainage.”

  A few quiet laughs slipped out, more relief than amusement.

  “You will run that route in the dark,” she said. “You will run it hungover. You will run parts of it in armor, with kit, with stretchers. Today was the easy, fun version where you didn’t have to worry about someone shooting at you or bleeding on you.”

  She jerked a thumb back toward where they’d come from.

  “That wall you saw by the chapel?” she said. “You can go back and read it on your own time. Some of those names were Theta squads. None of them thought they were going to end up carved into the hull when they woke up that morning.”

  She clapped her hands once.

  “Stretch. Hydrate. You’ve got time to shower and find breakfast before your next scheduled suffering. Theta-1, Theta-2, Theta-4—check your squad briefs. Theta-3, grab food and report back here at oh-eight-hundred. Jax owns you for the day.”

  The platoon started to break apart, forming little clusters. Theta-1 and Theta-2 drifted together, talking low. Theta-4 peeled off as a block.

  Theta-3 stayed where they were for a moment, catching breath. No one made a speech about sticking together; they just didn’t walk away.

  Navarro bent forward, hands on her knees.

  “I hate her,” she said.

  “Which one?” Vos asked, easing a stretch into his calves.

  “Yes,” Navarro said.

  Tanaka rolled his shoulders once.

  “You get used to it,” he said. “Mostly.”

  Navarro straightened a little, eyeing him.

  Kaden stretched his quads, feeling the tremble in them. His shirt clung to his back. Sweat trickled down his temple, stinging his eye. The memorial wall flashed in his head: names etched in clean rows, a couple with Theta designations.

  “You ever… look for your own name up there?” he heard himself ask, immediately wondering if that was a stupid question.

  Tanaka’s jaw tightened a fraction.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Plan is to keep it that way.”

  Vos let out a slow breath.

  “Good plan,” he said.

  Kaden straightened, feeling the ache settle into his legs like a promise. His HUD pinged softly.

  PERSONAL NOTE: ROUTE – MARINE DECK → CHAPEL → MEMORIAL → LADDER CHARLIE → POD BANK A → LADDER → MED BAY → MARINE DECK

  AURORA COMMENTARY: BASELINE ESTABLISHED

  No judgment. No praise. Just a line in a log.

  Jax stepped over from where she’d been talking with Korovec and stopped in front of just them.

  “Theta-3,” she said. “Eat. Shower. By oh-eight-hundred, I expect you to remember at least three of the key points we passed. I’m going to ask you where med is, where the pods are, and what sits next to the chapel.”

  “Names,” Navarro said quietly.

  “Correct,” Jax said. “Remember that. It’ll make you more careful.”

  She gave them one last, short nod.

  “You didn’t embarrass yourselves,” she said. “That’s a start. Don’t get cocky. This ship hasn’t even started trying to kill you yet.”

  Then she stepped away again, leaving them to the corridor and their own breath.

  Navarro rolled her shoulders with a grimace.

  “Mess?” she said, glancing between Kaden and the other two.

  “Mess sounds good,” Vos said after a beat. “If I don’t put something in my stomach in the next ten minutes, I’m going to start regretting all my life choices at once.”

  Tanaka nodded once.

  “Food,” he said. “Then sims.”

  Kaden fell into step as Theta-3 drifted toward the mess line, the route already etched into his muscles. Marine deck. Chapel. Names. Pods. Med.

  They didn’t know each other yet, not really. Navarro at his shoulder was familiar, the one solid carryover from before. Tanaka knew how Jax liked to grind a squad into shape. Vos moved like a man more used to fighting systems than stairs, watching and listening more than he spoke.

  It wasn’t a squad yet. Just four marines heading for breakfast and a ship that expected them to learn fast.

  First, food.

  Then they found out what Jax meant when she said sims.