Chapter 18

Training Camp - Day 13

When I wake up this morning, I'm alone in our shelter. I don't know how long it has been like that - when Styles had left. I notice the outline of Cairns body next to me. In a panic I sit up, shaking her.

"Cairns! Wake up. We're both asleep, that means no one is on watch. Styles will kill us." I hear the intensity in my own voice. Cairns doesn't quite match my urgency.

"Relax Holton, it was him who told me to come in. He says we need our sleep for today. He's watching for us all." Her voice is quiet and grumbly. She rolls over and goes back to sleep. Unfortunately for me, the adrenaline now coursing through my body will not allow me the same luxury.

I push back the shelter flap and step out into the cool morning air. The sky is a dull grey, the kind that comes just before sunrise, stretching over the dense trees like a thick blanket. The camp is still. Silent. It feels strange after spending so many nights surrounded by restless recruits and the constant rustle of bodies shifting in their makeshift beds.

Then I see him.

Styles stands a short distance away, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed as he watches over the camp. He's still, but not relaxed. Even in the low light, I can see the sharpness in his gaze, the ever-present awareness in his stance. He doesn't startle when I approach. Doesn't even turn his head.

"Good morning" I say quietly.

"Is it?" he replies. His response is blunt but his tone is neutral. I think that might have been his attempt at a joke.

"Touché. Morning." Is that my attempt? Styles doesn't respond.

"You've taken watch yourself?" I ask, trying to break the awkward silence that has fallen over us. In this moment, I question why I even came over here in the first place.

Styles exhales through his nose, looking slightly amused. "Couldn't trust you lot to do it properly." Styles finally looks at me, and there's something unreadable in his expression. The cockiness is there, but it's tempered. "You will all need your sleep for today," he continues.

A beat of silence stretches between us. I can feel it, that familiar hum in the air whenever we're alone.

I shift my weight, rubbing the back of my neck. There's only so much awkwardness a gal can take at this time of the morning. "I should—"

"You talk in your sleep."

My stomach tightens. I snap my gaze to him. "I do not."

Styles smirks, the shift in his posture so slight I almost miss it. "You do." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "I could've learned all kinds of things last night."

I don't know if he's lying. I don't think he is. Surely one of the others would have brought it up before now though. It doesn't matter—he's enjoying the fact that I don't know for sure. I huff, rolling my eyes, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. "I don't say anything interesting."

Styles hums like he's considering. "That's subjective."

Another stretch of silence. Another moment where I feel like I should walk away, but my feet stay rooted to the ground.

"Go get ready," he says finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. "You'll want to be sharp today."

I nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. I turn, heading back toward the shelter.

_______

I'm not sure how much time has passed before Styles' voice booms out around the clearing, but I know it wasn't long.

"Up you get. Time for your penultimate challenge!"

I hear Cairns groan beside me.

"2 days left. I can do 2 more days of this." She mutters. It's interesting. She's looking forward to this being over. But if I'm being honest with myself, I'm dreading it ending. I can't even bring myself to think about what my life will be like after training.

_________

We headed straight from the clearing to the negotiation room. Styles probably wants us as mentally drained as possible to knock us off our game. And, looking around, it seems like it will probably work. Kelso is slouched down in his chair with his head in his hands. The bags under his eyes speak for themselves. Even Hawkins is looking worse for wear.

Styles had announced the drill would run almost identically to the previous. We would each take him on in a negotiation 1-1, and he would do his best to throw us off. Langsford is currently in there. Your imagination can't help but run wild while you wait.

Eventually, Langsford exits the room and heads back to the dorms. He doesn't look at the rest of us or say anything.

I look at Styles who is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Holton, you're up."

The air in the briefing room is thick. It isn't humid or warm—quite the opposite. The space is cool, the lighting sharp, the atmosphere clinical. But the tension, the weight of unspoken things, is suffocating.

Styles sits across from me, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table. He's leaned back, exuding an ease that is entirely calculated. It's the same lazy confidence he wears like a second skin. But I know better now. I know how much of it is a weapon, how everything he does is intentional.

I'm meant to go first. That's how the challenge works. The recruit makes their argument, tries to manipulate their way out of the scenario, and Styles, as the captor, plays his part.

He's watching me, waiting, dark green eyes unreadable. I square my shoulders, inhaling deeply before I start. "You need me alive."

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Predictable." He rolls his eyes. "Go on, humour me, why is that then?"

I settle back slightly, keeping my expression neutral. "You need information. If you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I'm alive because I have something you want."

Styles tilts his head like he's considering it. "And what makes you think I can't get it from you by force?"

"You could try," I say smoothly. "But torture isn't always effective. People say what you want to hear just to make it stop. False information is worse than no information at all."

He hums, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "So, you're useful to me?"

"Yes. You've wasted resources keeping me alive. If I wasn't valuable, you wouldn't have done that."

His eyes flicker with something sharp. "That's a weak hand to play, Holton." He breaks character.

I don't react. "I haven't finished playing."

"Confidence. It's good." He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "But there's just one problem."

I wait.

"You present me with logic and expect me to just accept it, because it's... rational. Maybe I'm not a rational man."

Something shifts in his expression. Subtle, but there. A small crack in the carefully controlled mask, just enough to make me second-guess myself.

I press on. "I think you are rational."

He raises his eyebrow "Really? You think you know anything about me?"

"I have leverage." I dodge his question. Time to try a different tactic. I've kept cool so far, I need to keep pushing.

Now, there's a glint in his eye. He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "And what exactly do you think that buys you?"

I force myself to hold still. "My life."

Styles lets a beat of silence stretch before exhaling a soft chuckle. I can tell he's broken character again. "See, that's where you and I differ." His fingers drum lazily against the table. "You're thinking about survival. I'm thinking about control."

A flicker of unease creeps into my chest, but I don't let it show. "Survival and control go hand in hand."

He hums, tilting his head. "Do they?"

"Yes"

"We'll then you're about to lose. Because control is so much more important, and you. don't. have. it." He spits out each word.

"I disagree" I fire back.

"Holton, you can agree, disagree, tell me that God himself appeared to you with this in a dream. I don't give a fuck. Because from where I'm sitting, you need me. I have control, and with that I have your survival in my hands. If I wanted to see it, I'd have you begging for your life." His words are sinister. I don't know whether I'm talking to my fictional captor, or my real-life commanding officer. The lines are so blurred, it makes sticking to any kind of strategy nearly impossible.

I tighten my jaw. I don't react. I won't give him the satisfaction. But he sees it anyway. Something flashes in his gaze—victory, amusement, something even more dangerous beneath it.

Styles leans back slightly, watching me with something close to amusement. "You walk in here thinking you can play the game, Holton." His voice drops slightly, almost conversational. "But the truth is—you don't even know what the game is."

Fuck it. If he can break the simulation and play dirty, then so can I.

I exhale through my nose, keeping my expression neutral. "You're trying to throw me off."

His smirk widens. "Is it working?"

"No."

Styles clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "You always say what you think you're supposed to say."

I don't rise to it. "I say what's true."

"Do you?" He leans back again, tilting his head. "You think you're being strategic, but you're really just predictable."

He's getting to me. I can feel my breathing start to hitch, but I try to cover it.

Styles catches it, eyes lighting up like he's just hit the jackpot. "Ah," he breathes. "There it is. Hesitation. Panic. Game over."

I force myself to relax.

I press forward, repeating my previous statement. "You're trying to throw me off."

He raises an eyebrow. "And?"

I keep my voice steady. "And it's not working."

Silence stretches. Styles watches me for a long moment, unreadable. Then, abruptly, he stands. He paces slowly to my side of the table, his movements unhurried, controlled. I keep still. He stops beside me, resting a hand on the back of my chair, leaning down slightly. His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade.

"You talk a big game, Holton," he murmurs. "But do you really believe it?"

I don't move. "Yes."

Styles exhales a soft chuckle, close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. I force myself to stay still. He's fucking with my head.

His smirk is slow, like he's enjoying this too much. "That's where you're wrong."

I clench my jaw. Styles watches me closely, his voice barely above a whisper. "See, you can sit here and tell yourself you have the upper hand. But I know the truth."

I don't speak. He leans in just enough to make the air between us heavy. "I know how much you hate how I get in your head. How fucking easy it is for me."

I force my expression to stay neutral but Styles' smirk lingers.

"You can't stand it, can you? That no matter how much you fight, no matter how much you push back—you always end up exactly where I want you."

I inhale slowly, steadying myself. "I think we're done here." I stand up from my chair.

Styles takes another step closer to me. "Are we?"

He chuckles, low and knowing, before continuing. "You held your own, I'll give you that. But I think we'll count this as a win for me."

This isn't real. It's a drill. Yet, he keeps fucking dragging me into reality. Well maybe it is time I faced reality. He knows how he makes me feel, and he's using it against me.

"Fuck you." I say sharply.

"Excuse me?" he quips

"You heard me. I said fuck y-"

Before I can finish, he has moved forward, towering over me. His head hangs low and close. So close, I can feel his breath on my face.

"Finish that sentence, and fucking regret it." The smirk is gone from his face.

My breath stutters. He's so close. Too close. My body betrays me, heat burning my skin.

"This is intimidation, not negotiation," I whisper, though my voice lacks the bite I want it to.

Styles makes a quiet sound, "It can be both."

My heart is racing. I try not to break eye contact but everything feels so intense. The bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

"Admit that I'm in control here. Admit that I won, fair and square. Admit that you can't think straight, can't control your reactions around me." His voice is like gravel.

"No."

"Tell me what I want to hear, Holton," he coaxes, voice molten. "And maybe I'll let you go."

Are we back in the simulation? I'll be damned if I admit it to him, but he's right. I can't think straight. I can't ever keep the upper hand for more than a moment. That doesn't mean I will give in though. I shake my head, ignoring the way my lungs tighten. "No."

He exhales sharply, like I've amused him. I lower my head, trying to get some space.

"So this..." he begins, and puts his hand on my chin, thumb resting on my lip. He gently tips my head up to look at him. "The way I'm looking at you right now, the way you can hear, see, feel my breathing. How close my body is to yours... it doesn't affect you at all?"

I shake my head, fearful of how weak my voice might sound should I try to speak.

"So, you're saying you've never thought about it? You've never thought about how it might feel if I got even closer. If instead of my thumb here it was my mouth? If you just let go and gave in?" His pupils are dilated and his voice is mesmerising.

With every ounce of strength I have, I manage to utter "Why are you doing this?"

"Because unlike you, I will do whatever it takes to win. Sorry to burst your precious little bubble, but negotiations aren't pleasurable experiences. You walk into one the way you did in here, throwing your 'leverage' about, you'll be more than just uncomfortable. Negotiators use whatever they can against you, whatever they know, or can find, about you. Friends, family, dirty secrets. Nothing's off the table." His voice is low, still so close to me volume doesn't matter.

"So, here we are," he continues. "I'm putting it on the table. What you do with it, is up to you."

My pulse pounds in my ears. I need to move. I need to walk away. But his presence is suffocating, pinning me in place.

"I'll ask again. Who is in control here?" He pushes. My resolve is struggling. He's put thoughts in my head. The proximity is intoxicating. And now all I can think about, is closer.

Then, in a single moment that shatters every line I've tried to hold, my eyes drop to his mouth. It's quick. A flicker. But it happens.

And fuck— he saw it.

A slow, deliberate smirk curls at the edge of his lips. My breath catches.

"Shame," he murmurs, his voice dropping into something just shy of a warning. "I almost thought for a second there, you might have been able to pull this one off. Oh well, I win."