Chapter 1: The Gravity of the Situation
Julian Vance was twenty-three years old, and he was currently losing a fight with a revolving door.
It wasn't a particularly fast-moving door, nor was it malicious. But Julian had a unique, almost scientific talent for finding the exact angle at which his shoelaces, his oversized duffel bag, and momentum would conspire against him. With a soft oof, his shoulder hit the glass, his foot caught the edge, and he stumbled out into the lobby of the military recruitment center like a newborn giraffe taking its first steps on ice.
He managed to keep his footing—barely—by grabbing the nearest sturdy object.
Unfortunately, that object was a life-sized cardboard cutout of a Navy captain. The cardboard captain groaned under Julian’s weight, folded in half with a tragic crump, and sent both of them crashing to the linoleum floor.
A shower of glossy brochures rained down on him like heavy confetti.
"Off to a great start, Julian," he muttered to himself, staring up at the acoustic ceiling tiles. "Really showing them that elite tactical grace."
"Are you planning on staying down there, or is this a tactical nap?"
The voice was deep, dry, and raspy, like gravel rolling in surf.
Julian scrambled to sit up, his face instantly burning a bright, mortified crimson. Standing over him was a man who looked like he had been chiseled out of granite and dressed in a perfectly tailored utility uniform. His dark hair was cropped close, his chest was broad, and his sleeves were folded with geometric precision. The rank insignia on his collar marked him as a Sergeant.
But it was his eyes—an intense, stormy gray—that made Julian freeze. They were currently tracking the brochure stuck to Julian’s forehead.
"I, uh... I was just testing the structural integrity of the flooring," Julian squeaked, quickly peeling the paper off his skin. "It's... highly secure. Sir."
The Sergeant’s eyebrow twitched. He extended a hand. Julian took it, fully expecting a standard pull, but the man hoisted him up with effortless, terrifying strength. Julian stumbled slightly as his feet hit the ground, brushing off his jeans.
"I'm a Sergeant. You call me Sergeant, or Sergeant Miller. 'Sir' is for officers," the man said, his gaze dropping to the flattened cardboard captain. He sighed, a slow, long-suffering sound. "And I see you've already neutralized our commanding officer."
"I am so sorry," Julian said quickly, bending down to try and pop the cardboard back into place. It only bent worse. "I'm Julian. Julian Vance. I'm here to... well, I have an appointment to enlist."
Sergeant Liam Miller crossed his arms, his biceps straining against the fabric of his uniform. He looked Julian up and down. Julian was twenty-three, which made him older than the flood of eighteen-year-olds currently rushing to enlist, but he had a soft, earnest look to him. He was tall, with unruly curls of brown hair and wide, expressive hazel eyes.
He also looked like a gentle breeze might knock him over.
"Enlist," Miller repeated, his voice flat. "In the Navy."
"Yes, Sergeant."
"You do realize the Navy involves ships, correct? Ships that move. On water. Which causes rolling, pitching, and uneven surfaces." Miller's eyes drifted to Julian’s untied left boot. "Are you sure you want to introduce your... unique relationship with gravity to the open ocean?"
Julian felt a familiar sting of defensiveness, but he forced a smile. He was used to people doubting him. He’d spent his whole life being the "clumsy kid," the one who broke wrists on playground swings and spilled coffee on his college midterms. But he wanted to do something real. He wanted to prove he could handle the hard things.
"I can handle it, Sergeant," Julian said, squaring his shoulders. "I've got good sea legs. Probably. I mean, I haven't been on a boat since I was six, but I didn't throw up."
Miller stared at him for a long, silent moment. Julian held his breath, wondering if the man was going to point to the exit and tell him to go home before he accidentally swallowed his own tongue.
Instead, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of Miller’s mouth.
"Right," Miller said, turning on his heel and gesturing for Julian to follow. "Let's get your paperwork started, Vance. Try not to trip over the threshold on your way into my office. I don't have the budget to replace another wall."
Julian grinned, a sudden spark of hope igniting in his chest. He grabbed his duffel bag—carefully—and stepped forward.
Naturally, his toe caught the edge of the welcome mat. He recovered with a wild, flailing skip, but he saw Sergeant Miller stop, close his eyes, and take a deep, centering breath.
Oh yeah, Julian thought, a bit sheepishly. This is going to be an adventure.
