Another day, another slog to the training fields. Claude had whupped him good yesterday, but Dawson was determined to get used to the pain and strain. Spars after all were nothing compared to how missions would go down. If his behavior on his first external mission taught him anything, it was that he seriously needed to grow a backbone. And one could absolutely do that while working on one's core, right?
(And maybe it was a nice distraction while jumbled Bad Stories ran amok in his head.)
Tugging his trucker cap down—a sign he was
getting ready for business seriously—he started to stretch with a great wince.
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