Chapter 3: The Secret Hidden in Plain Sight
The rising tension began with the semifinal announcement.
Only five competitors remained.
Logan Hayes.
Evelyn Cross.
Derek Lane.
Mason Hill.
Cole Whitman.
All men except her.
All nationally ranked except her.
The announcer walked across the floor with a microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are entering the speed precision semifinal."
The crowd leaned forward.
"Targets will move at randomized intervals."
A murmur passed through the stadium.
"Each competitor has limited time."
Another murmur.
"Highest three scores advance to the final challenge."
Logan rolled his neck.
Derek Lane muttered, "This is where luck ends."
Mason Hill glanced at Evelyn.
"Hope she enjoyed her little run."
Cole Whitman smiled.
"She'll fold once the lights hit."
Evelyn adjusted her glove.
The star mark remained visible beside the black fabric.
Her face did not change.
The buzzer sounded.
Derek went first.
Twelve hits.
Mason scored thirteen.
Cole scored twelve.
Then Logan stepped forward.
He raised his rifle with showman confidence.
His first shot cracked perfectly.
Then the next.
Then the next.
The arena counted with him.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
His last shot clipped the edge.
The plate spun sideways.
"Fifteen!" the announcer shouted.
The crowd exploded.
Logan looked straight at Evelyn.
"Your turn."
Evelyn walked to lane seven.
The stadium noise dropped into a strange hush.
She set her feet.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Her left wrist aligned beneath the rifle.
The star mark rested against the wood stock.
A camera screen in the officials' box caught it sharply.
Arthur Bennett saw it.
This time, his body went still.
"Zoom on lane seven," he said.
The assistant looked confused.
"On her face?"
"Her wrist."
The assistant hesitated.
"Her wrist?"
"Do it."
The screen enlarged.
Evelyn shifted slightly.
The mark moved out of frame.
Arthur's hand curled around the railing.
"Again," he whispered.
The assistant could not hear him.
The buzzer sounded.
Evelyn fired.
The first steel target snapped backward.
The second spun before it fully rose.
The third dropped so fast the audience gasped.
Her rhythm was not fast at first.
It was exact.
Then it accelerated.
No panic.
No chase.
Every shot seemed to arrive before the target understood it was exposed.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
The final plate crossed behind another moving arm.
Most competitors waited for separation.
Evelyn fired through the narrow opening.
The plate burst backward.
The crowd froze.
Then the scoreboard blinked.
FIFTEEN.
The announcer exhaled into the microphone.
"Another perfect run from Evelyn Cross."
Logan's smile disappeared.
The arena did not know what to do.
Then applause rose slowly.
It started in the upper rows.
May you like
Then spread down the seats.
Soon it became a roar.
