"Damn," Jean says when he sees me, giving me the once-over. "You look like hell."

I know how I must look – the sunken eyes, the messy hair – and I smile weakly at him. "Tell me something I don't know," I sigh, rubbing absently at my eyes. "If only I got paid for every time someone's told me that."

He chuckles to himself, amused as he continues with his work. "You wish," he says, shaking his head. "Another rough night, huh?"

I smile faintly, dropping to a crouch and brushing my hands over my rifle fondly. Today we're having shooting practice, and I'd be damned before I'd admit that I was excited. A makeshift shooting range has been set up in the large clearing where we usually hold our assemblies, and everyone is buzzing with barely-contained energy. Shadis isn't here today, though our other supervisors are; he's been summoned to headquarters for some meeting.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," I say, picking the firearm up and stroking it absently as I hug it to my chest. "But I'm not. And I'm scared that I never will."

"Try chamomile tea," Jean says, squinting down the barrel of his gun. "It may be a little pricey, but it does the trick. Puts you out like a light."

I raise an eyebrow. "And you know this how, exactly?"

His cheeks color a little. "I used to get bad nightmares and shit when I was a kid, and got insomnia sometimes because of it," he explains, hesitant. He doesn't look at me, pinning his focus on reloading his ammunition. "My mother used to make it for me when things got too bad."

I process the information, a mental picture of crying, tiny Jean being comforted by his mother popping into my mind. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try," I reply, flashing him a quick grin. "Thanks, mama's boy."

Jean's eyes are wide and glaring in an instant, staring at me with an expression mixed with shame and petulance. "I am not a mama's boy," he snaps, his ears pinking. "And I'd rather not see that old hag ever again, if I had anything to say about it."

"That's not a very nice thing to say about Mrs. Kirschtein, Jean," a voice says suddenly, and both Jean and I look up, eyes narrowing against the blinding sun.

The voice belongs to a boy that stands behind us, his hand cupping the butt of his rifle, its barrel leaning against his shoulder. His black hair is short and parted down the middle, an easy smile hanging on his face, and I notice that there are freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose.

"No one asked you for your opinion, Marco," Jean says snarkily, turning away from the freckled boy and returning his attention to his firearm. "You know I have nothing nice to say when it comes to that old hag."

Marco sighs in defeat, slouching a little as he releases a breath. "It's always nice to see you, too," he says, before his eyes shift from Jean to me. He blinks a few times before he smiles at me, genuine in its sincerity.

"Hey there," he greets me, nodding in acknowledgement, his smile still on his face. "You're the trainee from the Dauper base, right?"

I try for a smile and somewhat fail, my mouth twitching into an awkward grimace instead. "Yeah," I say, sighing internally. Is this really what people were calling me? "You've got me."

"Her name's Kara, dumbass," Jean smirks at Marco. "Don't be rude."

Marco tries for a frown, but I see the laughter in his eyes. "And calling someone a dumbass isn't?" He counters, raising his eyebrow at Jean.

I can't help but laugh at that, and when I do, Marco seems genuinely pleased by it.

Jean grins at Marco, chuckling. "Touché," he says, shaking his head. "Kara, this is Marco," he adds, gesturing carelessly to the freckled boy. "He's a good friend."

I try for a second smile, and succeed this time. "Pleasure to meet you," I say sincerely.

Marco's grin seems to grow brighter. "Likewise."

"Marco here is the 104th Trainee Squad's top marksman," Jean says, nudging his friend in the knee good-heartedly. "He could shoot a hawk from a mile away."

The freckled boy's ears redden, and he rubs the back of his head, a sheepish look on his face. "You exaggerate," he says shyly, glancing at me. "Really, I'm not as good as he says I am."

Jean's grin widens. "You need to give yourself a little more credit, my friend," he says, before he stands up. He's only a little shorter than Marco. "Sometimes I wonder why you still need your maneuver gear."

Before Marco and I can say anything to point out the clear error in his words – that titans can't be killed by firepower alone, Jean twists his body towards the target and fires without warning, the loud bang of the gunshot ringing through my skull. My ears are still humming from the sound when Jean squints at the target, scrutinizing it before his face breaks into a large, smug grin.

"Almost there," Jean says proudly, his gun still smoking, and turns to punch Marco in the shoulder. "One day, I'm going to catch up to you and leave your sorry ass in the dust."

Marco smiles, shaking his head. "Confident as always," he murmurs, sighing as he rests a fist on his hip, and a wide grin spreads across my face. Their friendship is interesting, that's for sure.

I look to the target, Jean's bullet embedded somewhere in the inner rings. Not too close, but not too far either.

"You should give it a try," Jean says, reaching a hand out to pull me up from where I'm seated on the ground.

"I don't know," I say, taking his hand and feeling a little embarrassed after Jean's clearly more-than-decent display in shooting. "I've never fired one before. I'm not sure if I should – "

"You'll be fine," Jean grunts. "Don't get all wishy-washy on us."

"Quit it, Jean," Marco says in a stern tone, obviously disapproving of his friend's way of encouragement. "Don't let him get to you, Kara."

"Better off getting to her than under her, right?" Jean snickers, and I roll my eyes. Boys. "No offence, Kara."

Marco groans in exasperation, and I tear my eyes away from them, pinning my gaze to the target. My heart beats in an odd pattern as I raise my gun, the cool metal somewhat welcoming and familiar against my palm.

Familiar? I wonder, the thought echoing in the back of my mind.

Impossible.

I squeeze my left eye shut as I take aim, my finger coiled and ready to shoot.

"Make sure you watch the way you're holding your gun," Jean says, but I'm not listening, not even close as I swallow hard, my mind roaring like a wild ocean. "And lastly, try not to beat yourself up too much if you miss – "

I pull the trigger.

The blast explodes in my ears, my skull buzzing from the sheer power of the sound, and the recoil makes me stumble a little, my fingers trembling in shock from the shot. Blinking, I clear the smoke from my eyes, exhaling shakily.

Where did I hit?

"Holy shit," Jean says, startled. "Warn us next time, will you?"

"You didn't warn us either, Jean," Marco points out.

"Sorry," I apologize, but I'm not exactly all there. All I can focus on is the fading buzz of adrenaline and the gunmetal that's tingling against my palm. "I'll make sure to do that the next time."

Scoffing, Jean ignores me, squinting at my target, while Marco smiles awkwardly at me, as if apologizing for his friend's behaviour. I shrug in reply, only to see Jean's eyes widen in disbelief, his jaw slackening.

"The fuck?" Jean mutters, stepping forward to further scrutinize the target. "No way – "

Puzzled, I follow his gaze, only to have my own heart stop at the very same sight.

Oh, gods.

My bullet lies in the innermost ring, just barely grazing the bullseye, and I can hardly believe my eyes.

I hit it. I fucking hit it.

But how?

"I thought you said that you've never fired a gun before," Jean says warily, turning to narrow his eyes at me.

"I haven't," I mumble, transfixed by the target as my pulse tears against my neck. Jean has voiced my greatest concern at the moment – one that I'm not quite sure I have the answer to.

Marco steps forward, laying a calm hand on my shoulder. "Relax, Kara," he says to me. "At the least, it could just be beginner's luck. But on the other hand," he grins at me, "This could prove to be an actual talent of yours! Only time will tell. Oh, and practice, of course," he hastily adds. "Nothing to worry about here, if you ask me."

Thanks to Marco's words, the sinking feeling in my chest slowly ebbs away, allowing me to manage a tiny smile. "You're right," I say, though it seems to be more for my benefit than theirs, and I turn to face them. "Beginner's luck or not, talent or not, practice will pay off," I grin shakily. "Though to be honest with you guys, I think I've kind of had enough of guns for today."

"Sounds alright, I guess," Jean sighs, resting his elbow on my shoulder and earning a distasteful scowl from me. "But only this once. Don't expect any more breaks from now on, got it?"

I nod. "You bet," I say, my heart lifting, and before I can stop myself, I smirk triumphantly at Jean, my face filling with pride.

"Say, Jean," I lilt smugly, enjoying myself. "What was that you were saying about me missing, again?"

Chapter Soundtrack: Jet - She's A Genius.