Too Late to Hold Me Back novel Chapter 983

Mira fired her second shot.

"Wow, an eight! Your progress is catching up to my old records," Callum Young exclaimed in pleasant surprise.

(merged above)

The gun cracked again for her third shot.

"A nine! Damn, Miss Mercer, you've got the makings of a true sharpshooter."

Without missing a beat, Mira fired once more, landing another nine.

And another shot—still a solid nine.

Mira let out a long breath. "Learning to shoot is a lot harder than I thought."

"You're improving at lightning speed," Instructor Vance said with a smile.

"Nobody hits a bullseye right after picking up a gun for the first time."

He handed her a water bottle. "Grab some water, catch your breath, and keep at it.

At this stage, you don't need to overthink the mechanics. It all comes down to practice until muscle memory takes over.

"Your biggest advantage is your martial arts background. Your flexibility and control are far beyond the average person's. Once you hit that ten, we'll move the target back."

York Vance added.

Mira took a few steadying breaths and stepped right back into position.

She gripped the firearm, aimed down the sights, and pulled the trigger. A loud crack echoed across the field.

All eyes snapped to the target. "A bullseye! She actually hit a perfect ten!"

"How long has she even been practicing? That's insane!"

"I told you she had the makings of a sniper. I've always had a good eye for talent."

The surrounding soldiers chattered animatedly amongst themselves.

What they didn't know was that in a quiet corner of the training ground, someone was watching with a suffocating wave of jealousy.

*Sharpshooter, my foot,* Felicia Foster scoffed to herself. *Are these guys completely blind?*

*At thirty feet, I could hit a bullseye with my eyes closed. What a bunch of suck-ups.*

She couldn't fathom what kind of spell that woman had cast on York. He was a commanding officer, yet he was personally coaching her, drawing a crowd of fawning idiots in the process.

*I absolutely won't let her get away with this,* Felicia thought, her gaze turning predatory.

Once the target was reset, Mira held her breath and squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck dead center.

She fired three more times in rapid succession, every single one hitting the mark.

"Push it back another fifteen feet."

That put the distance between Mira and the target at a solid sixty feet.

The gun fired.

The first round drifted slightly, grazing the nine. But the second shot found the bullseye with absolute precision.

Her third and fourth shots followed suit, burying themselves right in the center.

By now, the onlookers had grown accustomed to her supernatural accuracy, falling into a stunned, observant silence.

Sitting alone in the corner, Deputy Commander Foster was finally forced to take her seriously.

Mira Mercer really did have some skill. Felicia herself had progressed quickly back in the day, but nowhere near this fast.

She was dealing with a formidable rival. She needed a plan, and fast.

Despite her affluent background, Felicia hadn't reached her current rank by being stupid. She had simply underestimated Mira because the woman's methods defied all conventional logic.