They moved like a single organism, a "flow-and-go" rhythm that minimized their exposure. But as they approached the threshold of the second room—a narrow hallway—the instructor’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers: "Contact front!"
"Threat down! Moving!" Leo shouted, pushing past the team to maintain the pace. In CQB, speed was security. If they stopped in the "fatal funnel" of the doorway, they were dead.
The overhead lights flicked on. The instructor stepped out from the observation gallery. "Time: 22 seconds. Good flow, but Jax, you flagged Elias’s vest on the entry. Do it again. Faster. Cleaner."
They reset at the start line. In the world of close quarters, "good enough" was a liability.
