Chapter 17

Training Camp – Day 12 (Part 2)

By the time we had all completed our initial challenges set by Styles in our pairings, the sun was beginning to set. We still had a long night ahead of us. We had regrouped in the middle of the clearing.

"Tonight, you'll continue to work in your teams to set up a long-term survival shelter using only what's available in the environment. No pre-made tarps. No shortcuts." His smirk is sharp, condescending. "Let's see if you have actually learned anything."

A few recruits shift uneasily on their feet, and I notice Kelso eyeing the trees like they've personally wronged him. His eyes narrow in suspicion, already anticipating the struggle ahead. Styles knows the effect he has on everyone—he thrives on it.

"Shelters aren't just about throwing some branches together and hoping for the best," he continues, his voice cold and condescending. "They need to be insulated, structurally sound, and camouflaged. And don't forget—wind direction, drainage, and a solid foundation. Set up in a dip and you'll wake up in a puddle. Use damp wood for insulation and you'll freeze by nightfall. Basic common sense. Not everyone has it, but if you do —use it."

"Now," he adds, his grin widening. "You've got an hour to get the foundations started. After that, we'll assess. And if your shelter is shit, you'll be the ones sleeping in it. Of course, I will need to sleep to0, so the winners... get me. The prize money can't buy."

A collective groan rises from the recruits, but no one dares to argue. We know better. I nod to Cairns; we both know the stakes are high now. We disperse into the woods, each group heading off to gather supplies. I stick close to Cairns as we set off. I know we're good at working together—we've got a solid rhythm already. Cairns has a sharp eye for the right materials, and I'm not bad at improvising. Together, we've got this.

We start collecting branches, fallen leaves, and some thick foliage to form the base of our shelter. The air is cool, and I can feel the pressure of the clock ticking down, and the temperature dropping with it. Styles' words echo in my mind: If your shelter is shit, you'll sleep in it.

"Right," Cairns says, breaking the silence as she surveys the trees. "Let's make this count." She begins pulling down long branches, carefully selecting those that look sturdy enough to support weight.

"Good choice," I reply, assessing the angle at which she's placing them. "We need something wide enough to cover the whole area. Once we've got a solid frame, we can work on insulation."

"Got it," she says, her voice clipped but focused. "You handle the framework; I'll start gathering the smaller stuff for the insulation."

I nod, focusing on the task ahead, but my thoughts flicker back to Styles. I can feel his eyes on us from a distance, even though he's not very visible. Watching, waiting for us to slip up. That makes my stomach twist a little—if we fail here, there's no hiding from it. The sound of his voice carries over the trees again, this time directing the others.

"Jefferies, Kelso —you're not using enough greenery. The whole point is camouflage."

I suppress a smile. He's relentless.

As the hour passes, the tension rises. The recruits around us are scrambling, some clearly struggling. I hear Hawkins shouting at Fairley, who's pulling at branches with too much force, while Kelso looks like he's about to have a meltdown under Jefferies' stern guidance. The pressure's mounting on all of us.

When the hour is up, Styles calls us all back to the clearing.

"Well," he begins, standing in front of the shelters, "let's see what we've got."

We each step forward with our respective shelters. Some look promising, but I can tell—there's no way some of these are up to par.

Styles eyes the group with that piercing gaze. "Some of these... well, let's just say I wouldn't sleep in them, not if I wanted to wake up alive."

I'm waiting for him to pass judgment on us—our shelter specifically. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me and Cairns.

"Holton, Cairns," he finally says, stepping toward us. "This looks... better than I expected. You actually used some common sense." His voice is cold, but there's something like grudging approval in it.

"Everyone," Styles continues, his tone shifting back to harsh command, "get your fire started. We'll need that warmth when night fully hits." As the others scramble to follow orders, I exchange a quick glance with Cairns. Styles walks off, giving us one last look over his shoulder. "I'll be sleeping in the best shelter. I'll let you figure out who that is."

____

The fire crackles beside us, casting flickering shadows over the shelter we've built. The night air is cold, but the warmth from the fire is enough to keep the chill at bay. I can hear the wind rustling through the trees, but it's drowned out by the sound of my own breathing and the crackling flames.

Cairns leans in close, adjusting the firewood. "I'll take the first watch. You get some rest. I'll wake you in an hour," she says quietly.

I nod, grateful for the brief respite. I retreat into our shelter. I settle down, trying to relax despite the tension still coursing through me from the challenge. But then I hear it—footsteps approaching. Our makeshift shelter entrance is pulled back. Styles.

I can hear his voice outside talking to Cairns, but it's so quiet, I can't make out what he's saying. He's always so quiet, so calculated in his movements. But then, I see him and I hear him.

"Well," his voice is low, teasing, "this is cozy. Too cozy, if you ask me."

I look up at him, meeting his gaze, but I don't say anything. His smirk is back, that damn smirk that makes me question whether I'm supposed to be angry, flustered, or something else entirely.

"You look like you're getting comfortable," he continues, taking a step inside and closing the entrance behind him. His tone is light, almost playful, but I can sense the underlying challenge. There's always a challenge with him—whether he's testing us, pushing us, or just... getting under our skin.

I swallow, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Yeah. I think we did a good job."

I hear the chuckle before I even see it, that familiar sound that sends a strange shiver down my spine.

"For once, we agree. Seems like I'm stuck with you. Lucky me." He says sarcastically.

I can't tell if he's mocking me or just enjoying watching me squirm. Either way, it makes the air around us feel thick with tension. It's different now, though, with no one else around—no recruits, no distractions. It's just him and me. I shift, uncomfortable under his gaze, but I won't back down. Not now, not after everything.

"You're not exactly my first choice either." I mutter.

His smirk widens at my words, his eyes glinting with something darker, something I can't quite read. "Tough crowd, huh? I was just trying to make small talk."

"Maybe I'm not in the mood for small talk," I reply, my tone sharp. I can feel my heart rate picking up, the way he's looking at me making everything inside me feel like it's on edge. I don't know why I'm on the defence. I just feel like I can never truly relax about him. I've always got to be 1 step ahead. Fuck, 3 steps ahead.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "What's the matter, Holton? Don't tell me you're afraid of a little... conversation."

The way he says it makes me want to snap back, to push him, but I don't. Instead, I take a breath, trying to steady myself. "I'm not afraid. I'm not as weak as you think I am."

"I never said you were," he murmurs.

"You've got a funny way of showing approval," I mutter, shifting slightly so that I'm sitting up a bit straighter, facing him more directly.

"You think I show approval in a funny way?" His voice is soft, almost too calm, as if he's genuinely considering it. Then, a flash of that signature smirk. "Guess I'll have to work on that, then."

"You do whatever you want, Sir," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm here to do my job. Not to get your approval."

"God, you're so uptight," he laughs. "We're not going anywhere anytime soon, why can't you just relax. It will make the whole thing go by a whole lot faster."

"You're the one who keeps telling us to keep our guards up, to be switched on at all times. Now, you're telling me to stop. Which is it?"

"Being able to turn it on and off is a survival skill in itself Holton. No matter how I might make it sound sometimes, you can't be on all the time. It's not bad to have a laugh now and then, it's just about choosing the right moments," he explains.

I glance toward the fire, trying to find some kind of distraction, but it's no use. My eyes drift back to him, catching the way the flickering flames illuminate his face, casting sharp shadows across his features. There's something dangerous about the way he's looking at me, but also... something protective? I don't know. Maybe I'm just reading into things.

"So, what's the point of this, then?" I ask, my voice quieter now, the defiance starting to drain from me

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans a little closer, enough that I can feel his presence like a weight in the air. "Cracking is easy, Holton," he says, his voice soft but intense. "Anyone can crack. Even me. What makes you a winner, is what you do after."

I want to argue, to tell him it's not that simple. But something in his eyes, something in the way he stands there, unyielding, keeps me from saying anything. I'm not sure what it is about him—his words, his presence—but it's like he's always a step ahead, always making me question myself. And I hate it. I immediately want to pull away again. But something inside me—some flicker of understanding or maybe curiosity—keeps me rooted where I am. I don't know what it is about this man, but it makes me want to stay, just long enough to figure him out. To understand why he's always there, pushing me, testing me.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get the words out, there's a rustling sound from outside the shelter. Cairns' voice calls in, breaking the moment.

"I need to tap out. Holton, you're up" she says. "Do you two need anything before I retreat?"

I feel a rush of relief at her interruption, but it's immediately followed by a strange sense of loss, like the bubble that's been growing between me and Styles has just been popped.

"No" I reply simply. I pull my gaze away from him, not wanting to get sucked back into whatever strange dynamic we've been building.

With a quiet sigh, I shift to get up, my muscles protesting from the tension of the day. Styles doesn't say anything, but I can feel him watching me as I step toward the entrance, my movements stiff. I push the flap aside, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind has picked up, making the fire dance violently. My breath comes out in short, misty puffs as I walk to where Cairns is standing by the fire, her eyes tired but alert.

"Got the watch, Holton?" she asks, nodding toward the shelter as she takes a step away.

"Yeah," I reply, settling into the new routine.

"Wake me up in an a few hours and I can take another turn."

I nod as she steps back into the shelter. The flap pulls closed behind her, leaving me alone outside. It's colder now, and the crackling of the fire fills the quiet. I try not to think about what just happened inside. I can't afford to dwell on it.

_____

Hours pass and I can feel my eyes getting heavy. The sun will be coming up soon and I'd like to get a little more rest in. I quietly step inside the shelter. The change in dynamic is palpable. Cairns is curled up by the edge of the shelter, her back turned to Styles, clearly keeping her distance from him. There's an unspoken understanding between them, an acknowledgment of personal space, even in the confined quarters.

Styles lies flat on his back, staring up at the roof of the shelter. His arms are folded behind his head, his posture relaxed. I tiptoe to Cairns and gently shake her shoulders, trying not to wake Styles.

"Can we swap?" I ask quietly. Cairns sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, sure." She begins to put on and lace up her boots. I take up my spot in the middle, crawling under the cover. Cairns leaves the shelter silently. The quiet feels almost suffocating now, especially with the knowledge that it's just me and Styles alone in the shelter. The proximity, the stillness—it all feels too intimate. Too exposed.

A few minutes pass. I can hear Styles' even breathing, and the rustle of Cairns outside as she adjusts herself. I lie there, still wide awake, listening to the sounds of the night outside and the soft stirrings within the shelter. It's not long before I hear Styles shift, his voice a low murmur, cutting through the quiet.

"Holton," he says softly, barely above a whisper. I can't tell if he's still awake or if he's just speaking in his sleep.

I don't respond, though I want to. I'm not sure what he's expecting from me, but the silence lingers between us like a challenge. I wait a beat longer, my mind racing.

Finally, I turn my head to glance at him, catching the faintest glint in his eyes as he shifts under his blanket. He's not asleep, not entirely.

"You really can't relax, can you?" I've never heard his voice like this. It's fragile and has a slight break in it. It sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn't say it mockingly, though, just a quiet observation.

I don't have an answer. Instead, I turn my back toward him. My body is stiff, and I can feel the tension pulling at my muscles.

A few minutes pass before I hear his voice again, this time softer, gentler. "It's alright, you know... you're safe. You can sleep."

I don't answer. The words settle between us. I'm not sure how to respond. There's something about his tone, something that makes me feel like he's seen me in a way no one else has—seen the cracks that I've spent so long hiding.

Then, to my surprise, I feel the slight pressure of his hand on my blanket as it rests on my back. Just a small, barely noticeable touch. He doesn't press, just enough to let me know he's there, his proximity a comforting weight. The space between us feels less sharp now, less suffocating.

can feel the pull of exhaustion, but there's a resistance deep within me, a fear of giving in to the calmness he's offering. I want to say something—something sharp, something to keep the wall between us intact—but I don't. Instead, I take a slow, shaky breath. It's hard, but the tension in my body loosens a little, just enough for me to feel like I can breathe.

Styles' voice drifts toward me again, low and soothing, almost like he's guiding me to sleep without pushing it.

"Close your eyes. Trust me, I know what's happening tomorrow, and you need it. Focus on your breathing... In and out, nice and slow." His hand remains where it is.

I try to follow his instructions, trying to drown out the chaos of my mind with the slow rhythm of my breath. I'm not sure how long it takes before my body starts to give in. The crackling fire outside, his steady breathing, the feeling of his presence beside me—these things work together to pull me toward sleep, toward some kind of peace I haven't felt in days.

My eyes flutter closed.

It's not exactly the promise I'd expect from him. But tonight, it's enough. And slowly, the dark weight of exhaustion takes over.