LAPD Police Academy — 6:18 AM
The sky was still pale when the first cars began to park at the LAPD Police Academy complex.
The place had an atmosphere unlike any other training environment: less noise, less talking, more focus.
Snipers didn’t train in noisy groups.
Snipers trained in silence.
Harry Potter got out of the car wearing simple tactical clothing, a backpack, and a discreet cap.
There were no visible badges beyond what was necessary.
He walked with calm steps, observing the terrain, firing lines, elevations, and observation positions.
Other candidates arrived little by little.
Men and women from different divisions of the LAPD and even from precincts in other counties.
Some spoke in hushed voices, others remained quiet, already mentally isolated.
Harry quickly recognized the signs.
Some there wanted to be snipers.
Others needed to prove something.
Few truly understood what that meant.
They were led into a large room, bare walls, chairs lined up.
In front, a simple table and, behind it, a still-empty whiteboard.
The door opened.
And the atmosphere changed instantly.
Cris Alonso entered.
She didn’t need to announce who she was.
Short stature, firm posture, sharp gaze.
She wore a simple tactical uniform, without any unnecessary adornment.
The SWAT badge was discreet, almost hidden, exactly as if she didn’t need to prove anything.
She placed a folder on the table and slowly looked at each face present.
No one spoke.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice firm, without raising her tone.
“I am Cris Alonso.”
Some swallowed hard.
“I am a SWAT sniper,” she continued.
“The only certified woman currently in the squad.
That doesn’t make me special.
It makes me responsible.”
She crossed her arms.
“Before we begin, I’m going to make something clear,” she said.
— This course isn’t about shooting far.
It’s about expecting more than anyone thinks possible.
Absolute silence.
— If you’re here because you want status… — she continued — you can leave now.
No one will judge you.
No one moved.
— Great.
— Cris said.
— Then let’s dispel some of your illusions.
She took two steps forward.
— First question.
— she said.
— Who here is an ex-military?
A few hands went up.
Five.
Harry raised his hand too, without hesitation.
Cris counted with her eyes, memorizing faces.
— Lower them.
— she ordered.
The hands went down.
— Second question.
— she continued.
— Who here has received formal sniper training?
This time, fewer hands went up.
Some hesitated… and went down again.
Three hands remained raised.
One of them, firm, was Harry’s.
Cris observed for a few seconds, then nodded slightly.
“Keep your hands up,” she said.
“All three of you.”
She pointed to the first man.
“You,” she said.
“Introduce yourself.”
The man straightened up.
“John Miller, ma’am,” he said.
“Ex-Marine.
Certified sniper.
Two rotations in Afghanistan.”
“Longest confirmed shot?” Cris asked directly.
“Six hundred meters,” he replied.
“In Helmand.”
Cris simply nodded.
“Good,” she said.
“Sit down.”
She pointed to the second man.
“You.”
The man took a deep breath before speaking.
“Daniel Ross, ma’am,” he said.
“Army.
Special Forces.
Green Beret.
Served in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“Longest shot?” Cris asked.
“Eight hundred meters,” Ross replied.
“Urban environment.
Rooftop.”
Some candidates exchanged impressed glances.
Cris didn’t react.
“Alright,” she said.
“Sit down.”
She turned to the third.
“Harry.”
“And you?” she asked.
Harry lowered his hand, but maintained an upright posture.
“Harry Potter, ma’am,” he said calmly.
“Dual citizenship.
Former SAS operator.”
A low murmur ran through the room.
Cris raised an eyebrow.
“SAS,” she repeated.
“Which unit?”
“And Squadron,” Harry replied.
Now the silence grew heavier.
“Experience as a sniper?” Cris asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied.
“Largest confirmed shot?” she continued.
Harry didn’t answer immediately.
Not out of hesitation.
But because he was calculating how to say it without sounding arrogant.
— Two point seven kilometers.
— he finally said.
For a second… no one breathed.
Someone let out a nervous laugh, thinking they had misheard.
— Repeat.
— Cris said slowly.
— 2,700 meters, ma’am.
— Harry confirmed.
— Desert environment.
Unstable atmospheric conditions.
The silence was now absolute.
The ex-Marine looked at Harry, incredulous.
— That… — someone murmured — that’s almost impossible.
Harry maintained a neutral gaze.
— Almost.
— he replied simply.
Cris remained silent for several seconds, staring intently at Harry.
There was no admiration on her face.
There was assessment.
— How many shots?
— she asked.
— One.
— Harry replied.
— Prior adjustment?
— she continued.
— Manual calculation.
— he said.
— Variable crosswind.
Two observers confirmed.
Cris tilted her head slightly.
“And you were right,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to the whole class.
“Look at him closely,” she said.
“And now forget all that.”
Harry blinked, surprised.
“Here,” Cris continued, “nobody’s special.
Nobody brings a resume to the firing line.”
She turned to Harry.
“That was over there,” she said.
“This is LAPD.”
“Understood,” Harry replied immediately.
She held his gaze for a second longer.
“Good,” she said.
“Because I’d be happy to fail you if you forgot that.”
Harry nodded.
“I’d expect less from you if you didn’t try.”
A corner of Cris’s mouth lifted slightly.
“I like you,” she said.
“I’ll probably hate you by the end of the course.”
Some nervous laughter arose.
“Now,” Cris continued, “let’s align expectations.”
She wrote on the whiteboard:
“A SNIPER IS NOT THE BEST SHOOTER.
A SNIPER IS THE MOST PATIENT.”
“You’re going to spend hours motionless,” she said.
“You’re going to be cold, hot, hungry, and thirsty.
You’re going to learn that the biggest mistake isn’t missing the shot… it’s shooting too early.”
She pointed to the ex-Marine.
“Six hundred meters doesn’t matter here.”
She pointed to the Green Beret.
“Eight hundred meters doesn’t either.”
She pointed to Harry.
“And 2.7 kilometers…” she paused, “definitely not.”
Harry held her gaze.
“What matters,” Cris concluded, “is whether you can not shoot when everything inside you screams to shoot.”
She closed the folder.
“Welcome to LAPD sniper certification.” She faced the group.
“Let’s separate those who know how to shoot…
from those who know how to wait.”
Harry took a deep breath.
He already knew this.
But, for the first time in a long time, he was about to prove it not to the world, not to governments or secret units but to himself.
There, in that silent booth, there was no past.
Only distance.
Time.
And the choice not to pull the trigger.
And that…
was always the hardest part.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
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