Page 15 of Remade (Hillcroft Group #3)

June 6th, 2025

Leighton Watts

4 :30.

My eyes flashed open.

Today’s the day.

I sat up in bed and let my feet hit the linoleum floor, and I peered out the window.

I yawned.

My stomach knotted with nerves.

I’d been told Ecuador was a gorgeous country, but I hadn’t seen much of it. We’d flown commercial into Quito, where Operator Hyatt had been waiting for us in a helicopter, after which we’d flown straight up into the mountains in the very north of the country. Close to the Colombian border. Here, Hillcroft had their training facility and some four thousand acres of jungle.

The facility was essentially a one-story square brick, with a big courtyard at the center. They had classrooms, rec rooms, mess hall, and dorms here. They also had near-constant cloud cover, so every day was a new opportunity to see nothing but gray clouds and fog.

The air up here was thinner too.

I yawned again and scrubbed my hands over my face.

I’d come to discover that I didn’t sleep well without Bo nearby anymore, but it wouldn’t look good if we shared a dorm while we were up here. Each room had two single beds, and I had to make it work without my security blanket.

I looked out the window again. The courtyard was empty of life, and it’d be a while before the sun came up. We’d been told to set the alarm for seven, but I wanted this extra time to prepare mentally.

I guessed I hadn’t considered how significant this would feel, being up here, getting ready to complete Hillcroft’s final selection. It wasn’t just about my future career, but the years I’d lived through since losing my mom.

If I met that version of myself today, of the scared kid who’d barely had the guts to express his grief, I wouldn’t recognize myself. I’d been so clumsy and scrawny and nervous.

I’d felt betrayed and angry too, and though I’d processed most of that—everything Mom had done—I hadn’t changed my behavior. I’d only ever visited her grave once, after basic training, and I’d felt stupid being there. No idea why. It was just weird. Like, she wasn’t there.

To me, it was a masochist’s move. I didn’t need visual reminders to remember her death. My memories of Mom were locked up in my mind for safekeeping, away from my anger, away from the sting of betrayal. Every now and then, I could open the box and peer inside—and remember all the times we drove around visiting national parks, county fairs, and beaches. I couldn’t hear her laughter anymore, but I could see her face lit up with smiles.

I missed her.

Dad took up a bigger part of my brain these days, and I needed him there. He was in good company. Watching videos of him growing up had given him a strong voice, where he stood with Bo, Crew, Shay, Ryan, Willow, and Darius.

I’d stolen moments captured in videos, and I’d inserted them in my mind to give him a voice.

His presence meant the world to me, as did the others’.

I’d only heard Willow’s voice twice in person, but we had our way of communicating while she got more comfortable around me, and it reflected how I saw her in my head. She had her expressions. I was in no rush for the rest. As long as she stayed there in my mind, as part of my mental support group, I’d make it. With them in my life, I felt stronger and confident.

Wanting to get ready for the day, I spent the next half hour stretching, going to the bathroom, taking a shower, and putting on my new clothes. The shirt alone was, like, seventy fucking dollars, but Shay swore by it. He’d used something similar when he’d been here. The fabric breathed and felt light, all while it clung like a second skin and warded off moisture. I had long johns in the same material, so that made up my base layer. Then utility pants and a regular Henley followed. Good socks, good boots.

Deep breaths.

Two weeks on my own in the rainforest. Two weeks of trekking in valleys and mountains, across rivers, through the thickest terrain, in a world where the wild ruled with chaos and teeth. Snakes, ants, spiders, frogs, piranhas, jaguars, caimans, freaking plants … No biggie. So what if everything wanted to kill me in that jungle.

Pills and repellent could protect us to various degrees from certain fevers and parasites, but at the end of the day, we were on our own against some of the most dangerous creatures on earth, with the worst one being our fears. I’d studied hard in Bo’s class, and I’d heeded his warnings. While the dangers were real, they were overhyped. The odds of me getting mauled by a jaguar were about the same as me getting struck by lightning. I was way more likely to drink bad water or fall into a hidden pit.

Stay hydrated, stay dry.

I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders.

Two weeks. Eight recruits. Four giant sectors. Seven checkpoints where we’d collect markers. If we missed one, we were out. If we accidentally crossed the border into Colombia, we’d be airlifted out of there and sent home.

We’d be wearing trackers with distress signals and beacons so that the instructors could keep an eye on our whereabouts and our heart rates, but if we needed to be rescued, that was still hours away. We would, however, be able to contact fellow recruits, ’cause chances were they’d be closer. Though, that function was mostly in place so we could avoid one another. We weren’t allowed to team up for anything, and a signal would go off if we were within a hundred meters of one another at any point.

Standing by the window in front of my nightstand, I peered out over the courtyard in the pale predawn light, and I figured Bo would be up soon. He and the other senior operators had prep to do before we were off.

Two more weeks, and then I’d be an operator. It was fucking surreal. But I was so ready for that chapter to begin. Operator Watts…

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and retrieved my phone, and I reread the messages I’d received last night. My whole family. Well, those who knew what was going on.

Remember to stay dry and hydrated at all times. Boil the water twice and use the water filtration system without fail. You got this, son. If Gray can get time off work, we’ll fly out to see you in DC once you rotate home. –Darius

Good luck down there, kid. We’re thinking about you. Trust your gut and listen to your body. You only get one. –Ethan

If you have the energy, sleep off the ground. Trees are safer. Use the netting. Stay dry. And even though you’ll be eager to get to the next marker as soon as you leave camp in the morning, do yourself a favor, take an hour or two to fill your hydration pack with clean water. You’ll need a minimum of one gallon per day. More water, fewer headaches and less dizziness. Dehydration is the first attack against you. Don’t let it fucking win. Oh, and tend to every cut, no matter how small. An exposed wound in that environment is like begging for an infection that your tiny cache of antibiotics can’t fix. Be safe, and we love you. –Ryan

My brothers are being too vague about something, but apparently you’re off on some exercise that’s part of your training? Since I don’t know what it’s about, I’ll tell you what Jake used to say when I was little. Read the room before you enter it, always bring clean underwear, and you may catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but shit also works. Good luck, and I hope I’ll see you again soon. –Lias

Consider my home office a remote command center. I’ll be keeping close tabs. Be safe or else. –Willow

I smiled to myself and pocketed my phone.

“Nervous?”

“Sh-yeah.” I couldn’t describe how much.

I trailed down the stoop steps to the gravel courtyard, and I breathed in the misty morning air.

Bo finished his coffee and left the mug on the stoop. “Remember, if you can’t wear the tracker around your wrist for some reason, place it around your ankle.”

“Yessir.”

With the rest of the recruits finishing up breakfast, they headed out to the courtyard too, backpacks ready for inspection.

Rose, Payne, Riggs, and Coach came out too.

It might be the first time no recruit had something to say. Including Tanner. Maybe we were all busy letting the oatmeal and anxiety battle it up in our stomachs. Oatmeal, chicken, raspberries, eggs, and peanut butter for breakfast was going to last us through the day, hopefully.

Miguel was the only one who looked somewhat excited. His biggest worry had been final testing, and once he’d received his stamp of approval, he could relax. The physical stuff didn’t seem like much of a challenge to him.

The testing hadn’t bothered me too much, except for the medical part. Field medicine and whatnot. That’d been difficult.

I’d known from the beginning that Hillcroft didn’t accept recruits who were on required medication. Whether someone was allergic to pollen or peanuts or…whatever. Simply because access to medicine couldn’t always be guaranteed, and an allergic reaction could jeopardize an operation. But the course we’d completed now, with the final exams taking place here in Ecuador, had covered way more than that. For instance, operators couldn’t even bring vitamins or their own deodorant on assignments, because fucking everything could be used to map out their lives in the event of a hostage situation. If I suffered from dry elbows, I should pick up a local product—definitely not bring anything from home—that was used to treat something similar, to throw off a potential captor’s quest for clues.

Originally, I had expected field medicine to be about how to treat gunshot wounds and fractures, and while we’d certainly covered that too, it was much more. Nutrition, profiling within medicine, nature’s own pharmacy—the list went on, and yeah, I’d been nervous about that exam.

Even so, nothing compared to what we were about to embark on. If I failed these next two weeks… It’d be a year for nothing. A year wasted. More than that, it would knock me the fuck down.

“You got this, pup.” Bo draped an arm around my shoulders, and we stayed back a little while everyone else moved to the center of the courtyard. “We’ve given you every tool you’ll need to pass.”

That may be.

Some would still fail.

In the history of final selection at this place, no class had ever returned without a few dropouts.

I side-eyed him. If I do fail, will you still be with me ? —

Get that fucking thought outta your fucking head.

I swallowed. Welp. That sounded a lot like Crew.

“Were you gonna say somethin’?” Bo murmured.

I shook my head. Nope. Not a damn thing. “Just that I love you.” I threw that out there.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he rested his forehead against my temple. “Use those nerves to stay alert. To be honest with you, I wouldn’t’ve sent you out there if I didn’t believe you could pull it off.”

I believed him. My hot-as-fuck boyfriend had turned into a fusser off the clock, and I rolled around in the pleasure of it on a daily basis. So I believed him. If he didn’t think I had what it took, he’d put a gag on the instructor and roar as the protective partner that I had to stay back.

“In two weeks, you’ll run up that mountain on the other side of those gates, and I’ll say something like, welcome home, Operator Watts.”

Something fluttered within me, and a rush of excitement gave me a much-needed boost of resolve. I was gonna fucking do this. But there was one thing I had to address. Something I’d been thinking about for a while.

“Can I use Quinn for work?” I asked hesitantly.

Understanding dawned quickly, and he nodded and hugged me to him. “’Course you can. I’ll tell Danny.”

I let out a breath. “Thanks. You think I’ll make a decent Quinn?”

He flashed a lopsided little grin and nudged up my chin. “You’ve been a Quinn since you were conceived, baby.”

I chuckled. I guessed he had a point.

“Have you thought about changing it for real?”

I shook my head. “Nah.” I just wanted a tribute or something—and to feel closer to my dad and, these days, uncles and aunts…and grandparents.

I had grandparents again.

“Quinn’s a fitting alias for you,” he said decidedly. “So is Beckett, but I don’t want fuckers making jokes about you being my kid.”

I cracked up and locked an arm around his neck. “Because that’s the only reason two men share a last name—they’re related?”

“Well, no.” He smirked and rubbed his nose against mine, and it was the funniest moment. It was just the two of us in our little bubble, and we didn’t say anything else on the matter. But we locked eyes, we kissed, and we came to a silent agreement. Maybe it was too soon to talk about this shit now, not the best timing either, but we knew very well there were other reasons for people to share a name.

I smiled and kissed him again. “I’mma go become an operator.”

“Damn right. I’ll be waiting.”

One more kiss. “I love you, beast.”

“I love you too, pup.”

Less than ten minutes later, I was twenty feet and one world away from the moment I’d shared with Bo. At the center of the courtyard, our instructors reminded me more of mean old Army Drills, and they were barking warnings at us. We also went through the inspection of our inventory. Not a whole lot fit into a regular backpack, and yet the contents would keep us alive for the next two weeks. Stuff like emergency meal bars—five of them, 800 calories a pop—multitool, waterproof map, compass, two knives, a hatchet… After the texts from my family, I was very focused on securing my daily requirement of water. I had my hydration pack that held two liters, and then a canteen. Purification tablets, a filter system?—

“Recruit Kelley, is something funny, or is your face stuck that way?” Riggs demanded.

Tanner wiped the smirk off his face and seemingly automatically stood at attention. “No, sir! Just ready to prove myself, sir! And may I add, you look particularly sexy this morning, sir?”

I coughed and turned away for a sec. Jesus Christ, that guy was fearless! Two weeks in the jungle would be a walk in the park for him. ’Cause Operator Riggs was one of the strictest instructors we’d had, and I wasn’t sure I’d seen him smile even once.

“Shut the fuck up, Tanner,” Coach snapped. Riggs was just a stone-faced picture of constant disapproval. “Does anyone else have any personal belongings? In that case, give them to Operator Payne right fucking now.”

Danny took a step forward. “That includes anything engraved, jewelry, wallets, phones, pictures, and keepsakes!”

I had nothin’. I’d handed everything over to my man.

Speaking of, Bo was the next to step forward, and he used his Operator Beckett voice. “What kind of operators does Hillcroft create?”

“The gray kind!” we yelled on autopilot. “We will not stand out! We will not be identified!”

“Who speaks first?” he continued.

“Never us!”

“Who strikes last?”

“Always us!” we finished.

He nodded firmly and held up his clipboard. “Leighton and Miguel, you’re the first pair to head out. Leighton will go east toward marker six, and Miguel is heading west for marker two. Ten minutes later, we have Gabriella and Zander, then Tanner and Maxine, and last but not least, Riley and Shawn.” He gestured to Coach, who strode between us, and I looked over my shoulder.

He was aiming for the gates.

“This is it, recruits!” Danny said. “This is what you’ve been training for since last summer. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir!” we yelled.

He nodded once. “Gates opening! Flores and Watts, good luck.”

I sucked in a breath and tightened the straps of my backpack, and I exchanged a quick glance with Bo.

Two weeks. I love you. Don’t you dare solve the Omar case without me.

Omar Said had been the topic of our pillow talk lately, ’cause we were romantic as hell.

Bo couldn’t actually guarantee he’d be here when I returned, at the same time as he thought it was unlikely he’d be called away. The educated guess on when they were taking down Said at this point was a month or two. Aside from Intel, they had Darius and River Tenley on as consultants, and Willow was cross-checking details from previous Hahn-related assignments to see if they’d missed anything, so I’d like to think we had our best people on the case. If they made a guess, chances were they knew what they were talking about.

Miguel and I turned around and headed for the gates, where nothing but rainforest waited for us down the mountainside.

Coach held up two stopwatches, and I noticed he was standing on a long beam that had been dug into the ground. That was the line, then. Once we crossed that marker, we’d started.

“See you in two weeks for the ceremony, recruits,” he said.

I swallowed and exchanged a glance with Miguel.

See you in two weeks.

We crossed the marker together, and then we were off in two different directions.

June 9th, 2025

“‘We will never underestimate a foe,’” I panted, darting between two of the biggest ferns I’d seen so far. “‘Or surrender to him.’” I was losing daylight fast in this swampy, humid, green hell. I had to get my marker before I set up camp. “‘We will never be alone… Even when we’re on our own.’”

Oh my fucking God, I hated the jungle. Staying dry was a goddamn pipe dream, and I didn’t understand how that could be one of the most important survival tips. It was fucking impossible!

Every hundred yards or so, I had to stop and check the map to ensure I was going in the right direction. Yesterday, I hadn’t even seen the sky, because the tree canopy was so thick.

I traced the stream on the map with my finger, and I looked around. There.

I swallowed dryly.

Depending on the terrain, I had maybe two hours of daylight left—and at least one hour to my marker.

June 12th, 2025

“Are you fucking kidding me!” I bolted up from my spot and jumped down on the ground, with my heart hammering to escape my chest. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!

I shuddered in disgust and couldn’t stop cursing. Motherfucking spiders, the size of my hands. That was it; I wasn’t sleeping without the insect netting again, no matter how easily it got stuck in the tree bark and…all over the fucking place. The net was a nuisance, but that was the last straw. Gross, gross, gross. Right in front of my goddamn face too.

The nights were undoubtedly the worst. Were the others getting any actual sleep? I was so beyond exhausted that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was operating on two hours a night, and I didn’t succumb until around dawn.

I blew out a harsh breath and peered up at the wide branch I’d been perched on. The spot had been perfect. I wasn’t sure it actually qualified as a branch when it was approximately two feet wide, but whatever. It was horizontal. It was evidently also home to disgusting, hairy, giant spiders.

Sleep wasn’t happening. It was almost five in the morning, and it’d be a while before I forgot the sight of that thing two inches from my face.

“This is great,” I said, retying my boots. “Fucking great. Just kill me and get it over with.”

I couldn’t afford any injuries at this point, because I was already halfway through my antibiotics. Every recruit had been given a five-day prescription, and the moment my stomach had felt off the other day, I’d started mine. Taking a shit out here was bad enough without a virus taking up residence inside me, especially since I only had two rolls of toilet paper. After that, you had to use what Mother Nature provided.

June 14th, 2025

I crammed another couple of berries into my mouth and looked around me.

Nothing was going to ruin my good fortune this evening. The fish was almost done over the fire, these berries were damn good, and my hydration pack was full of clean water.

In your fucking face, jungle.

“You’ll make a damn good operator, Leighton,” I told myself. “You can officially fetch your own blackberries.” Or whatever the fuck they were called here. I’d studied it back at Hillcroft. They were some South American version of blackberry, much bigger, a lot more red than black, some actually grew on trees instead of bushes, and they were tart. At least the ones I’d found.

I scratched my cheek, then promptly batted away an insect.

I hadn’t washed myself properly in four days, and it seemed to be helping, as Bo had advised. It was best to blend in with your scents too. The first few days had been awful. I’d been bombarded by mosquitoes and annoying little flies.

The downside? My whole body was a rash.

But my shit was solid, and I hadn’t thrown up!

June 16th, 2025

Was this a joke?

I approached the bright-orange post with markers attached to it, and I wondered if someone was pranking me. Did the snake not have enough trees to coil itself around?

It had to be about six feet long, but based on the markings, it was a boa—so, not venomous to me. And not big enough to choke me out.

“Nice noodle,” I said, approaching cautiously. “Can we cooperate here? This is your land, and I don’t wanna fucking be here. To be honest, I’d rather be home with my boyfriend and watch Jeopardy .”

Just thinking about our evenings together made me wanna cry. Man, was I exhausted and hungry and wet and itchy and…fuck. I missed him. I missed our couch. We’d picked it out together for its size and comfort. We’d turned into game show nerds on that couch. Alex would giggle at us or, if she was in that mood, roll her eyes and go to her room.

Carefully extending my hand, I kept my eye on the snake as I reached for a marker that hung a few inches below.

“Don’t do anything rash, okay? I will fucking shoot you,” I said. “I have a gun. I’d prefer to use it to scare off jaguars and boars, but I swear I’ll shoot you and eat you for dinner.”

The snake poked its tongue out to collect scents, watching my every move, but I freaking survived. A beat later, the marker was in my grasp, and I stepped back quickly.

I released a breath, attached the marker to the side of my backpack, then looked back at the snake.

“I want you to know something,” I told it. “A few years ago, I bought a pin at Target where the proceeds went to fighting deforestation. And if you’re not nice to me, that won’t happen again. Okay?”

I didn’t feel the need to mention that the grandmotherly cashier had asked if I’d consider buying the damn thing “for a good cause,” and I’d been unable to say no.

June 20th, 2025

“Fuck you, tree,” I panted, jumping over the log. “Fuck you, fern. Fuck all of you. Fuck green. Fuck overcast skies. Fuck humidity, fuck swamps, fuck insects, fuck your fucking parasites.”

I remembered running down this hill two weeks ago, how easy it’d been.

Uphill, not so much.

I’d spent three hours last night preparing a decent camp, not to mention a solid supply of water, and I’d actually gotten four hours of sleep for my trouble. Now I wanted to shower. I wanted an actual toilet. I wanted proper food. I wanted clean water that came from a faucet or a bottle.

I whimpered and wiped at my muddy fucking face. My heart rate was through the roof, but I couldn’t stop running. I’d been running since I’d woken up. My water was gone. My food was gone. Some part of me had been damp with sweat and humidity for two goddamn weeks. I was so done. I cried and laughed and panted and cursed and shouted. I hated trees. I never wanted to see the color green again. My feet hurt. I had blisters and rashes and a handful of bites from creepy-crawlies.

I’d legit pulled my gun on a centipede yesterday. I’d blown it to fragments.

Never before had my mind been so frazzled, so chaotic, and so desperate.

With my gloves on, I used my hands as much as my feet to climb higher on the mountain. Over boulders and rocks, up a small cliffside trapped behind thick root systems. I pulled myself up, grunting and weeping, hating everything, at the same time as I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

I was gonna make it.

In half an hour or so, I’d see the training facility.

My heart might explode from the adrenaline rush, and it was the only fuel I had left in my body.

Water.

Water.

Please give me water.

Fresh, clean water. Not from a stream where I’d encountered that caiman, not from the waterfall where the water had been too yellow, not from the lake where the water had been too still to be anywhere near drinkable even after boiling, not from the swampy puddles in which I’d become a feast for leeches, and not from condensation pools in big-ass leaves.

I never wanted to see another spider or snake for as long as I lived. And the moths, the lizards, the bugs—oh, the squishy bugs filled with slime that were nothing like in the Lion King . Roaches, nymphs, vicious tiger beetles, ants, all the fucking ants.

Ironically, my one and only encounter with an anaconda had been more fascinating than anything else. It’d been fairly small, maybe twelve feet, and it’d slithered away from me.

No jaguars, no Fer-de-lance snakes, no bullet ants—thank fuck. I would’ve expired. What I’d suffered through was enough.

More tears rolled down my cheeks, and I felt legit crazy. Angry, murderous. Fucking plants. I hoped every goddamn tree here became furniture. Cut the whole fucking forest down. Set the global corporations loose and burn the motherfucker to the ground.

I scratched my arm and accidentally glanced down, just to see red streaks of blood from my scratching.

That was great. Exposed wounds—highly recommended.

While we were at it, throw every bird on the grill, and we could have a party. I was sick of their constant cawing and chirping.

I forced myself to stop and have another look at the map. And to calm down a little. My heart kept thundering, and my mouth was too dry.

Okay. I was on the right mountain, at least. That was nice.