The training yard at the FBC's Quantico facility was a flurry of activity. Recruits in various stages of training shouted commands, sprinted through obstacle courses, and practiced maneuvers with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Zachariah Trench wiped the sweat from his brow as he completed another lap around the track, his muscles aching from the relentless pace of the day's drills.

As he slowed to a walk, his attention was drawn to a nearby group of recruits engaged in hand-to-hand combat exercises. Unlike the field agent trainees, who focused on observation, analysis, and paranatural theory, these recruits moved with precision and brute force. They were Rangers in training, the Bureau's elite combat specialists, tasked with handling the most dangerous paranatural threats head-on.

Among them was a woman who immediately stood out. Her movements were sharp and deliberate, her strikes landing with a force that made her sparring partner stumble back more than once. Her presence commanded attention, not just because of her skill but because of the quiet confidence she exuded. Even the instructors seemed to regard her with a mix of respect and wariness.

Trench found himself watching her longer than he intended. When she finally disarmed her opponent with a fluid motion and a sharp twist, she turned and caught him staring. Her sharp brown eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression.

"Enjoying the show?" she called out, loud enough to draw the attention of a few nearby recruits. Her voice was steady, carrying the edge of someone who had no patience for nonsense.

Trench straightened, wiping his hands on his training uniform as he approached. "Just admiring good technique," he replied, keeping his tone neutral. "You've got a hell of a right hook."

She smirked, crossing her arms. "It's not just the right hook. You've got to know when and where to use it."

"Duly noted," Trench said, extending a hand. "Zachariah Trench. Field agent training."

She regarded his hand for a moment before shaking it with a firm grip. "Helen Marshall. Ranger training. You're one of the new recruits, right?"

Trench raised an eyebrow. "Word gets around fast."

"It does when you're the guy who stumbled into an AWE and lived to talk about it," she said, a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "People like stories. Yours just happens to be more interesting than most."

Trench chuckled, though he felt a flicker of discomfort at being the subject of gossip. "And what's your story?" he asked. "How'd you end up here?"

Marshall's expression shifted slightly, becoming more guarded. "Let's just say I've seen what's out there, and I'm not interested in standing on the sidelines. The Rangers get to be in the thick of it, where it counts."

"Fair enough," Trench said, sensing that there was more to her answer than she was willing to share. "I'm guessing you're not big on the theory side of things."

Marshall shrugged. "I leave the book-smarts to you and the research guys. My job is to make sure you've got a chance to use them. Besides," she added, gesturing toward the field, "I'd rather be out here than stuck in a lecture hall."

"Can't argue with that," Trench said. He glanced at the other Rangers-in-training, most of whom were still grappling with the basics compared to Marshall's fluid expertise. "Looks like you're ahead of the pack."

"Some of us have to set the standard," she replied, her tone light but carrying an undertone of pride. "Besides, the Bureau doesn't exactly attract average people. We all have something to prove."

Trench nodded, recognizing a kindred spirit in her words. He'd felt the same way since arriving at the FBC—a drive to prove himself, to carve out a place in a world that defied explanation.

"Well, good luck setting that standard," he said. "I'll stick to the lecture halls for now, but maybe I'll see you out here again."

Marshall gave him a small, approving nod. "Count on it, Trench. Just try to keep up."

As she turned back to the training yard, Trench couldn't help but feel a surge of newfound determination. The Bureau was filled with people like Helen Marshall—capable, driven, unyielding in the face of the unknown. If he was going to make it here, he'd have to be the same.