Part 1Leeching My Talent

I knew perfectly well that my boyfriend's childhood best friend was practically legally blind. Yet, during a critical wilderness rescue operation, I willingly handed my customized tranquilizer rifle over to her. Then I pulled out my phone, leaned back against a pine tree, and booted up a mobile battle royale game.

I did it because I remembered my past life. Back then, this exact same girl, a big-box store cashier, suddenly stepped up at our tactical training range and shot perfect bullseyes.

When people questioned her impossible accuracy, Bella just shrugged and said that scanning barcodes at a cash register was the exact same muscle memory as pulling a trigger. She claimed it was just practice making perfect.

From that day on, she replaced me as the core tactical marksman of our elite search and rescue squad. She soaked up all the glory, the media praise, and the massive bonuses.

I was reduced to a glorified pack mule, enduring endless eye rolls and mockery from the very teammates I used to protect.

It wasn't until she retired to marry my boyfriend that she finally revealed the truth. She lured me to an empty shooting range, fired a few flawless shots, and laughed in my face.

"Riley, I finally don't have to drag you around like a pathetic shadow anymore," she had sneered. "So what if you trained until your fingers bled for twenty years? In everyone's eyes, I'm the only genius sniper around here."

That was when I finally understood. Every single time Bella looked down a scope, she was neurologically linking to my brain, perfectly leeching and replicating my hard-earned shooting skills.

Then I blinked, and the world reset. I was reborn, standing right back on the very day Bella first claimed that scanning groceries was the same as firing a high-caliber weapon.

This time, I was going to let them all burn.

* * *

"Fifty-yard stationary, nine points."

"Skeet shooting, twenty-two hits."

"Moving target, eight points."

"Riley, you took first place in the tactical assessment again. You really are the undisputed ace of this squad."

I stared at the crowd of teammates cheering around me. The midday sun glaring off their tactical gear felt entirely surreal.

My boyfriend, Connor, jogged over with a polished marksman medal in his hands, flashing a brilliant smile.

"Come on, Ry. Take your prize. You earned this."

My hand reached out entirely out of habit. Right at that moment, a loud, obnoxious scoff cut through the applause.

My chest tightened. Here it comes.

"You guys give out medals for scores like that? I mean, shouldn't anyone with functioning hands be able to do that?"

The squad went dead silent. Everyone turned to see who had the nerve to talk such garbage. When they realized it was Bella, a chorus of mocking laughter broke out.

"Ignorance really is bliss," one of the guys snickered. "A supermarket cashier with a barcode scanner thinks she can look down on elite rescue operatives."

Bella flushed bright red, visibly furious that her little comment had backfired.

"It's just pulling a trigger. What is the big deal? I come from a generational military family. I practically have gunpowder in my blood."

That only made the squad laugh harder.

"Your dad is a local gun nut who shoots beer cans in the woods," someone shouted. "What kind of military family is that? The discount aisle militia?"

I watched Bella pout her lips, fully anticipating her next move. Just like in my past life, she was going to latch onto Connor and beg for a turn.

Right on cue, Bella grabbed the sleeve of Connor's tactical jacket and whined.

"Connor, please just let me try. What, are you worried I'm going to waste a few dollars in ammo?"

She paused, her eyes darting over to lock onto mine. "Or... are you worried Riley will get mad if my score is better than hers?"

Connor and I had been a couple for years. We fought side by side in the harshest wilderness environments. He should have known I wasn't the jealous type.

But his reaction was just as disappointing as the last time.

Connor furrowed his brow, looking at me with a hint of warning. "Riley, Bella is just acting like a kid. Treat it like a game to humor her. Don't throw a tantrum over this, okay?"

Without waiting for my response, he made the executive decision and guided Bella straight to the firing line.

For someone supposedly from a military family, Bella held the rifle like it was a rotting fish. Her posture was stiff, awkward, and completely wrong.

But the second the buzzer sounded, a phantom shift took over her body.

Her movements became ruthlessly efficient. Her trigger pulls were completely devoid of hesitation.

Whether it was a stationary paper target or a mechanical clay pigeon flying across the field, she tracked them with absolute perfection.

When the final target popped up, Bella squeezed the trigger. A clean, devastating hit.

"Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Every single one is a dead center hit!"

The squad could not hide their absolute shock. They swarmed her immediately, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You just shattered Riley's all-time record! You are an absolute natural. A total prodigy!"

I looked over at Connor. He wasn't even glancing in my direction. He ran straight to Bella and wrapped her in a massive bear hug.

"Bella, when the hell did you learn to shoot like this? Why didn't you tell me?"

Bella soaked up the attention, her face glowing with smug satisfaction.

"It really isn't a big deal. You look at the target, you pull the trigger. The bullets go in a straight line. It's not rocket science."