The girls gathered at the forest edge, each armed with paintball guns and a bag of extras — smoke bombs, flour-filled balloons, and a few traps they’d rigged with tripwires the day before. Trella stood in front like a commander at inspection, shotgun-shaped paintball marker resting on her shoulder. “Today is total war. Two teams. Capture the flag. No mercy.”

Aya grinned, twirling her SMG-style paintball gun. “Finally, something fun. Do I get to punch people if I run out of paint?”

“No.” Trella answered instantly.

Within minutes, the girls split into two teams. And the forest exploded into shrieks, paint splatters, smoke clouds, and laughter. Katya took the first high ground and nailed Samira with a perfect headshot. Samira wiped her goggles, groaning. “That’s a war crime!”

Meanwhile, Aya charged like a berserker, paintball gun blazing and Amelie met her halfway — the two of them colliding in the middle of a smoke cloud like titans in a Saturday morning cartoon. 

Mei-Ling moved like a shadow, rope dart whipping around a tree. She didn’t even fire. She just snagged Trella’s gun right out of her hands and dragged it into the undergrowth. Trella blinked at her empty grip. “…Did she just disarm me with a rope?”

Aiko pounced from the bushes with a war cry and immediately got hit by Michelle, who’d been hiding behind a log. “I actually hit her!”

“Betrayed… by civilian aim…”

Liza snuck up on Anya, whispering “Surprise!” … and blasting her with green paint at point-blank. Anya shrieked, slipping on her own discarded clip and tumbling down a slope, splattered in three colors.

Samira tried a big brain play, rigging a tripwire with a bag of flour. Katya, sharp-eyed, spotted it instantly and lured Aya straight into it.  PFFFT!  Aya stood frozen, covered head-to-toe in flour. “I look like a powdered donut."

Back at the heart of the forest, Trella and Aya were once again nose-to-nose, arguing in the middle of the battle.

“This isn’t how you flank—”

“Shut up, you lost your gun to Mei!”

And just when the bickering reached peak volume, Michelle popped out of a bush behind them, clutching the enemy flag. “…Uh. I win?”

Silence, then chaos. Half the girls fell over laughing. Aya’s jaw dropped. Trella buried her face in her hands. Michelle planted the flag proudly in the dirt. 

“That’s right, Cipher for the win.”

***

The house was quiet for once. No laughter, no thundering footsteps, no echoes of chaos bouncing through the halls. Out in the woods, the girls were still waging paintball war, which left the kitchen strangely quiet.

Williams leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, trying to peel potatoes with a combat knife and failing miserably. Milena walked in, hair loose, a faint smudge of flour still on her cheek from earlier baking. She stopped, crossed her arms, and arched a brow.

“You’re not in the Balkans.” She reached over and smoothly plucked the knife out of his hands. She replaced them with an actual peeler from the drawer. “Try this. It’s less medieval.”

“Guess I’m more comfortable defusing a bomb than cooking dinner.” 

“That much is obvious. But at least you’re trying.” Milena answered with a softer tone.

She set a pan on the stove, her movements were efficient and calm. For someone who’d spent years patching up gunshot wounds, she was surprisingly graceful in the kitchen. Williams glanced sideways at her, hesitated, then said quietly… “You know… I didn’t expect you to treat me with any kindness. After what I said. After how I acted…”

Milena paused mid-stir, her expression was unreadable for a beat. “They’re children, David. They’re used to survive people’s cruelty. When someone shows even a little honesty, they forgive more easily than we deserve.”

He nodded slowly. “And you?”

For the first time, she looked at him directly but not unkind. “I don’t forgive easily. But I do recognize when a man is trying to change.”

“That’s something, I guess.”

“It’s a start.”

And for the first time in days, his chest felt a little lighter. “Five years, it was just me and Michelle. And I thought… if I buried myself in work, kept busy enough, I wouldn’t notice the hole. But lately— Hell, listen to me. I sound like one of your patients.”

Milena didn’t smile, but her gaze softened. “Maybe you are. Maybe we both are.”

For a moment, silence settled. Not uncomfortable, but weighted with something unsaid. “You’re not the only one who filled years with nothing but survival. I patched wounds, ran, hid, patched more wounds. Only after the deal I finally remembered what it feels like to just breathe.” She smirked faintly. “Two broken people in a kitchen, trying to make lunch without poisoning the children. Not the worst company.”

They both laughed. For the first time in a long time, Williams didn’t feel like a man dragging his grief behind him and Milena, though she’d never admit it, felt a little less like a medic waiting for the next wound to stitch. The door slams open.

“We’re home!” Aya shouted.

The next instant, chaos flooded in: boots stomping, laughter, backpacks hitting the floor. Trella was the first inside, her normally neat twintails wild with leaves sticking out. Anya followed, coated in mud up to her knees. Amelie dragged her gun like it had just come back from World War III. Milena snapped automatically, already stepping away from the stove. “Don’t touch anything! Shower, now!”

“But we’re starving!” Katya groaned.

Williams was just staring. “What the hell happened out there?”

“Paintball…” Michelle said casually. “And maybe some creative rules.”

Aiko pulled twigs from her hair. “More like no rules.”

Aya, grinning ear to ear. “Totally worth it!”

Before Williams could scold them, Liza piped up from the hallway with perfect deadpan. “Also, one of us fell in a swamp.”

All heads turned. Anya threw her hands up defensively. “What?! It was camouflage!”

The whole kitchen erupted in laughter, mud and paint everywhere. And yet, for Williams, standing there among the chaos, it felt strangely good. Not like an invasion, but like a home.

At lunch Trella eyed the dishes suspiciously. “This looks… good.”

“That’s because it is. Eat.” Michelle said.

“Don’t question the magic.” Amelie added with a full mouth.

Trella poked at the plate with her fork. “Normal food usually means someone messed with it. Poison? Explosives?”

Milena sighed, massaging her temple. “It’s just pasta, Trella.”

Aya slid into the chair across from her, grabbed a fork, and shoveled in a mouthful. She chewed dramatically, then leaned back, hand over her heart. “Ahhh… the toxins… spreading… can’t… breathe…”

Trella’s lips twitched dangerously close to a smile. Finally, she sighed, took a bite, and froze. “This is actually good!”

Within minutes the table was full, every chair claimed, arguments breaking out over portion sizes. It looked less like a trained covert unit and more like a very loud, chaotic family lunch.

Dawson interrupted the chaos for a moment. “I´m happy to see you in such a good mood. I think I can make it even better. We´ve organised a camp for you.”

“Paintball war in the forest?” Aya asked excited.

“Scary nights…” Amelie added. 

“Not that kind of camp. The brass doesn´t want you to get out of shape, so you´re gonna have a 4 day heavy training session in a real army camp.” The whole dining room erupted in joy. Michelle was almost a bit jealous. “Wow! You are going to an army camp?!”

“And you and Talia are going with them. You will receive training in tactics and engineering.”

***

Williams’ government bus hummed along the road. The back seats were crammed with duffel bags, ammo cases and twelve restless girls who treated the ride like a mobile barracks. Michelle sat squeezed between Trella and Aya, clutching her notebook of questions like a life raft.

“Last chance to back out, Michelle.”

“No, Dad. I’ll survive.”

“If you survive us first.” Aya smirks.

The bus pulled through a guarded gate, soldiers on watch raising their eyebrows at the unusual passengers. The camp stretched wide. Obstacle courses, firing ranges, tents and barracks. A platoon of soldiers even paused mid-drill to watch.

A stocky, graying Colonel Briggs, the camp CO, strode up. “Agent Williams. Mr. Dawson briefed me. These are your… students?”

Eyes sweep over the girls, lingering a second on Aya’s haircut and Aiko’s sword bag.

“Yeah. Don’t let the height fool you.” 

“Don’t worry.”

He turned to the group, voice booming. “Listen up! This isn’t a summer camp. From tomorrow morning until Saturday evening, you’ll follow my drills. Reveille at 0500 sharp, obstacle courses, live-fire exercises, field survival. No exceptions.”

Trella nodded sharply. The others smirked like wolves at the smell of meat.

“You two are different cases.” His gaze locked on Talia first, sharp but not unkind. “You—tech girl. You’ll join my engineers. They’ll put you through the grinder. Field repairs, drones, vehicles, comms. If it’s broken, you’ll learn how to fix it faster than it breaks again.”

Talia blinked, then gave a small, respectful nod. “Yes, sir.”

Briggs shifted his stare to Michelle. She felt her shoulders stiffen before he even spoke. “And you—analyst. You don’t carry rifles, and that’s fine. But brains are a weapon too. You’ll sit in with my tacticians. Wargames, judgment calls, stress tests. I don’t care if you’ve never touched a battlefield, you’ll learn how to think like you’re standing in one.”

Michelle swallowed, then forced herself to meet his eyes. “Understood, sir.”

“Good. You’ll still rise with the squad and run calisthenics with the others. No exceptions. The rest of the day, you follow your separate paths. By Saturday evening, I expect all of you to leave sharper than you came. Clear?”

The Fangs answered in a ragged chorus: “Yes, sir.”

Michelle kept her lips pressed shut, but she felt her pulse racing. She was already in over her head. Briggs let the chaos wash over him, stone-faced. Then he barked. “Dismissed. Barracks are to your left. Unpack, lights out at 2200. Tomorrow at 0500, you belong to me.” He strode away without another word.

The girls unpacked. The barracks were standard issue: neat rows of bunks, footlockers, the faint scent of disinfectant and sweat soaked into the walls. For the Fangs, it was practically home turf. They moved with the efficiency of soldiers, bags unzipped, uniforms folded with machine precision.

Michelle, however, stood in the middle of it all like a tourist dropped into an alien world. She put her duffel on the nearest bunk, pulled out a stack of neatly folded civilian clothes, and glanced sideways at Trella. “Uh… where do I put my… hairdryer?”

“You don’t.” Trella replied without looking.

Soldiers outside still peeked through windows, some shaking their heads, some chuckling. Aya has noticed them. “Better get used to the view, boys. We’re not going anywhere.”

Michelle sat on her bunk, notebook open, already writing down tomorrow’s schedule like a diligent student. She could feel the stares through the window, but she was more nervous about tomorrow.

Williams lingered by the door, catching her eye. For the first time in weeks, he gave her an encouraging smile — not a worried one, not a protective one, but proud. Michelle’s shoulders eased just a little. From Aya’s bunk came the sound of her grenade launcher’s parts clicking together. “Relax, Michelle. You’re with pros. Just… don’t put anything where it explodes.”

The smell of overcooked pasta and garlic bread drifted through the wide, steel-tray-lined hall. The girls filed in as a unit, tray in hand, sliding into formation without even meaning to. Heads turned the instant they entered.

At one table, three soldiers leaned closer together, whispering.

“Are those… kids?”

“Shut up. You heard about ‘em in the briefing.”

“No way! Those are like middle schoolers. Somebody’s screwing with us.”

The squad passed, Aya flashing them a wolfish grin that made all three soldiers stop eating mid-bite. Michelle, caught in the middle of it, hunched her shoulders. She felt like every eye in the room was drilling into her back. She finally whispered. “Everyone’s staring.”

“Of course. Little girls carry more firepower than their battalion.” Katya stated dryly.

Amelie leaned forward, stabbing her meatloaf like it had offended her. “They´ll soon figure out we’re better at their jobs than they are.”

That earned a chorus of snickers around the table.

At the table behind them, two soldiers whispered more audibly this time.

“What the hell are they even doing here? This isn´t a babysitting camp.”

“Careful, man. They’re classified. Heard command signed half the unit to NDAs just for this week.”

Michelle shifted uneasily. She wasn’t used to eating under a spotlight. “Do they have to stare so much?”

Aya smirked, leaning back and spreading her arms as if to show herself off. “Of course they do. We’re like dangerous zoo animals. Feed us, don’t pet us.”

The whole table burst out laughing again, a little too loud, drawing even more attention.

Across the hall, a grizzled First Sergeant finally slammed his cup down. “Alright, eyes front! Eat your chow, stop gawking! This isn’t a circus, it’s an army camp!”

The soldiers snapped back into line, but the damage was done. The air hung heavy with curiosity. Michelle tried to disappear into her seat. “I feel like I walked into the wrong cafeteria…”

Trella nudged her under the table. “Don’t worry. They’ll be too busy tomorrow sweating through drills to care who you are.”

Aya leaned over, grinning wide. “Or we’ll smoke ’em so hard they’ll forget their own names.”

The night had cooled, the camp buzzing quietly. Trella, Aya, and Amelie wandered along the gravel road. Ahead, two privates wrestled crates off the back of a flatbed, one soldier per box, faces red with strain. Aya cocked her head. “Those are the loudmouths from dinner.”

Trella’s lips curved into a rare, sharp grin—the kind that made both girls instantly perk up. “How about we help them a little?”

The privates noticed them approaching. One smirked. “What, you three lost? Looking for the playground?”

The girls innocently looked at the crates. The other chuckled.

“You wanna help? Sure! Grab one of those crates and haul it inside.”

Trella and Amelie didn’t hesitate, each seized a crate, hefting it like it was full of feathers. Aya, not to be outdone, crouched and hooked her arms under two at once, standing tall with both balanced against her chest. The privates froze mid-step. One almost dropped his load. Amelie strolled past them with a little whistle, while Trella casually set her crate down with a thud. Aya strutted by with her double-stack, grinning like a wolf. When they came back out, Trella extended a hand. “Here, let me take that for you. Looks heavy.”

She plucked the private’s crate out of his arms and carried it inside. By the time the three girls were done, the two soldiers were still standing there staring into the warehouse like their brains had blue-screened. Trella dusted off her hands. “Next time you need help, just ask.”

The three of them walked off into the night, boots crunching in rhythm, leaving the two soldiers in silent existential crisis.