"This morning all of you will learn how to properly shoot a gun." Jimin pressed a gun into my hands without looking at me and kept walking down the line of trainees. When he reached the end of the row and everyone had a gun, he pointed at the targets on the wall across from us. "To pass this session, you'll need to be able to hit inside the center ring on the target least once before lunch. Otherwise you're going home."

I swallowed hard. Now I realized how the Initiation night had just been another test. The targets stood roughly 5 yards away from where we were behind the red line on the ground. Five circles were painted on them, the center ring the smallest. There was no way someone hungover would be able to hit the inner ring. And even if you weren't hungover the task seemed next to impossible. It looked no larger than a bottle cap from this distance.

As if reading my thoughts one of the human trainees, number 37, near me scoffed. "Are you kidding me?" He burst out. "How the hell are expected to hit the center ring? I bet even you can't hit that center ring! You're no older than all of us."

I winced and several trainees around me shift uneasily. This guy was a moron to think he could talk back to a trainer like that, regardless of the trainer's age. I risked a glance at Jimin.

The silver-haired trainer's face was colder than a glacier. My heart jumped into my throat when he slowly approached, each step calculated. As he drew near all the trainees, including me, moved back to give him a clear path to the bigmouth trainee— who looked like he was now regretting all life choices.

"I'm willing to bet," said Jimin softly, deadly. "And you can have a first row view." He jerked his head to the far wall. "Stand in front of the target."

Incredulous gasps and murmurs rippled around me but immediately cut short when Jimin swung around to glare at the rest of the trainees, eyes daring anyone to say anything else.

Conflict tore across the Number 37's face before he slowly trudged across the distance to the opposite wall. The target was raised high enough off the ground that when the trainee stood before it, his skull covered half of the center ring. The other half was the tiniest of crescent, no more than two inches, above his scalp.

My mouth dried. It would take an impossibly perfect shot to hit the center ring and not blow out Number 37's brains in the process. Someone gripped my arm— a red headed Outworlder girl, her eyes huge. I didn't shake her off.

Jimin flipped the gun in his hand carelessly, getting his point across to everyone like a punch to the gut: the trainee's life was in his hands. Him playing with his gun was equivalent to playing with the trainee's life. Just one slip of the finger, one tenth of a centimeter's inaccuracy, and Number 37 would be dead.

"All eyes one me," he announced. As if everyone wasn't already staring at him. "Take a good look on my posture and how I fire. If I do everything right, your fellow trainee here, Number 37, will still have a head after this. Maybe he'll even grow a brain in the process."

No one missed the blunt 'if'.

I set my jaw as I watched Jimin face the wall, facing Number 37. He stood with feet shoulder width apart. His arms rigid in front of him. Both hands held the gun pointing directly at Number 37's head.

Everyone held their breath. One second. Two seconds. Silence.

The bang was so loud it echoed through the training room. I flinched.

No one moved. Number 37 slumped to the ground, limp.

Jimin calmly lowered his gun. "Get up."

The bullet hole had gone clean through the top of the center ring, right in the small space between the rim and the trainee's head.

Number 37 clambered to his feet, his legs shaking so badly everyone could clearly see, and scuttled back over the safety of the red line and out of the shooting range.

"Next time you think talking back to your trainer is a good idea you might find yourself as target practice for a trainee," said Jimin. He stepped back and swept his gaze across all of us. "Now that you've had a demonstration, it's your turn."

When he strode away everyone loosed a collective breath and began quietly murmuring to each other, facing their respective targets.

The Outworlder clinging to my arm finally released my arm, flustered as she realized for the first time what she'd done. "Sorry," she laughed a little, though there was a strain in her voice. "I just... that was intense."

"Yeah. It was," I murmured, gaze flickering towards where Jimin was now watching everyone from behind the row, his eyes penetrating every person one by one. I quickly turned to my own target before he caught me watching.

I still wasn't quite used to seeing him in full trainer mode. The last time had been with the little boy, number 5, all those weeks ago.

"I'm Yeri by the way." The girl flashed a sweet smile at me. Her rose red Marks reminded me of flowers, swirling in lovely designs across her skin.

"Jiyeon." I assumed the stance that Jimin had made.

"I can't believe the trainer actually made a trainee stand in front of the target like that." Yeri muttered, also sliding her feet into position. "Why are all trainers so ruthless?"

I almost decided not to answer. Unsure even how to answer. In the end I just said, "They do what they have to do."

I recalled Yoongi's voice, despite the ache it brought, trying to remember everything he'd said the few times we'd gone to the shooting range. Feet shoulder width apart, both hands in front rigid, but not locked. Make a triangular shape with my arms before me to minimize the jolt of the recoil when the gun fired.

I sank my teeth into my lip as I squeezed the trigger, hating how loud the gunshots were. My arms just managed not to go flying back into my nose when I fired. My ears rang from the shot.

From this distance I could tell the bullet had gone through the outer most ring. I ground my teeth. I wouldn't fail this session. I refused to fail.

I fired again and again. My ears at one point had become muted to the loud cracks as I zeroed my attention on the target.

Finally, after countless shots and several reloads, the bullet slammed right on the inner rim of the center circle. Victory flooded through me.

Yeri offered me a quick thumbs up before turning back to her target. Despite her almost innocent aura, she had lethal aim. She'd been one of the first trainees to manage hitting inside the center circle. And not just inside, but almost directly in the bullseye. I briefly wondered if she'd had previous training with the gun.

The person on the other side of me, however, was not having much luck. I paused, now that I'd accomplished the session's task, and watched. The trainee beside me was another Outworlder, with rose gold Marks. He had a small, angular face with youthful charm, which at the moment was set in frustration and concentration. His name was Felix, I'd briefly met him on the first day of training.

I watched as he lifted the gun and fired. I grimaced. His posture was sloppy, feet a little too far apart, arms loose so that the recoil of the gun snapped them to the side. His bullet didn't even come close to hitting the target.

I stepped closer to him. "Hey."

Felix glanced at me and my heart twisted at the next to desperate look on his face. We'd been shooting close to two hours perhaps and lunch was just around the corner. He was going to get the boot if he didn't succeed soon.

"You need to fix your stance," I told him. I nudged his feet into proper position with my own foot. He allowed me to do so. "Show me how you hold your gun."

He obediently held up the gun. I shook my head a little and stepped up. I guided his arms into the right position. "Don't lock your arms," I scolded. "Keep them rigid like this. Good. Now aim. Fire."

I stepped back and held my breath as Felix zeroed in on the target. He fired. The bullet slammed into the bottom rim of the center circle.

"There you go!" I beamed.

To my surprise, Felix threw an arm happily around me in a half hug. "Thank you so much," he sang happily. "You're a lifesaver!"

A low voice behind me erased my smile immediately and my spine straightened, heart immediately quickening.

"What's going on here?"

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