Chapter 8: Pressure and Praise

The apartment was buzzing with quiet excitement when the group returned. For the first time since the outbreak, they felt something other than fear—they felt accomplishment.

Jake placed his crowbar on the floor and stretched his arms. "I still can't believe we did that."

"Believe it," Aiden said. He was checking the supplies they brought back. "You survived the first test. You followed my orders. You didn't freeze. That's progress."

Tim was still holding his bloody bat, staring at it like it meant something now. The others gave him small smiles, nods, or pats on the back. He didn't say much, but it was clear he felt proud.

Aiden stood. "We'll rotate watches tonight. No more full nights of sleep until I say so. Jake and I will take the first shift. The rest of you get some rest."

They obeyed without complaint. That, too, was progress.

Later, as the sky darkened and the wind howled outside, Aiden and Jake sat on the couch, watching the entrance.

"You think we'll need to leave this place soon?" Jake asked.

Aiden nodded slowly. "Eventually. Supplies will run out. Noise builds up. And people will talk. When others get desperate, they'll come looking."

Jake leaned forward. "So we're never really safe."

"No. But that's why we train. That's why we stay sharp. The goal isn't to be safe forever—it's to be ready for whatever comes."

They sat in silence for a while. Jake looked at Aiden and finally said, "Thanks... for giving us a shot. You didn't have to."

Aiden shrugged. "I didn't do it for you. I did it because the world already lost too many people. We need fighters, not victims."

Jake smiled a little. "Still. Thank you, it matters."

The next morning, Aiden woke the group early.

"Back to training," he said. "This time, we will go longer. You did well yesterday, but one win doesn't make you ready."

Groans filled the room, but no one argued. They climbed back up to the rooftop and began their drills. This time, Aiden pushed them harder, longer runs, faster swings, and paired sparring.

"When the time comes," Aiden said, pacing between them, "you won't get a second chance. You'll need to move on instinct. You'll need to protect not just yourselves, but each other."

Tim fell during one of the runs and scraped his arm. He hissed in pain, but stood back up.

"Good," Aiden said. "You bleed now so you don't later."

By midday, they were sweating, sore, and tired, but also more focused and more prepared.

Aiden gave them a break and handed out water bottles.

Jake sat beside him, wiping sweat from his neck. "You ever train a group before?"

Aiden shook his head. "I was a soldier. A mercenary. I worked alone most of the time."

"You're good at it," Jake said. "Tough, yeah. But you make people want to try harder."

Aiden didn't respond right away. He wasn't used to praise. Especially not for something like this.

"Trying isn't enough," he said finally. "Trying doesn't stop someone from turning. Doing it does."

Jake nodded, understanding. "Then we'll keep doing it. Every day."

That night, after dinner, the group sat around the lantern again. This time, they laughed a little. They told short stories about life before the outbreak. Tim talked about how he used to hate gym class. The girl with the hurt leg—Emily—talked about her pet hamster.

It was the first time Aiden had heard them laugh.

Jake leaned close and whispered, "They're starting to feel like a real group. Like a team."

Aiden didn't answer. But for once, he didn't feel the need to correct him.

For now, this was enough.

Tomorrow, the world would come knocking again. But tonight, they had earned the right to rest.