Yesterday, 04:16 PM
(This post was last modified: Yesterday, 04:16 PM by Riley Wright.)
Riley didn’t breathe out until she heard that one word. Practical. It was the closest Torres ever came to comfort.
He lifted one hand slightly, counting without theatrics.
[First: I want five bullet points. Not a novel. Five. What you knew at the time. What you assumed. What you did. What you should do differently next time with the same information.]
Riley frowned. “With the same information.”
[Yes,] Torres said. [Not with what you learned later. Not with hindsight. With what you actually had in your hands then.]
Her jaw tightened—because it meant she couldn’t rewrite the night into a version where she was always smarter, faster, and a step ahead. It meant she had to look at who she’d been in the moment, not who she wanted to be now.
Riley nodded once. “Okay.”
[Second,] Torres continued, [you’re scared this is going to make you hesitate next time.]
The words put a finger on the bruise. Riley didn’t deny it, because denial was what she’d been doing for days.
[Good,] Torres said. [That fear has teeth. You just don’t let it drive. You solve hesitation by pre-loading your decision tree.]
Riley blinked. “My… decision tree.”
[Yes,] Torres replied, like she’d asked what gravity was. [When you’re given escort duty on someone flagged as a risk, you don’t improvise your control plan mid-walk. You set conditions up front. Where you position yourself. What counts as a break in compliance. What you do if they stop, if they run, if a door closes, if you lose line-of-sight. You make those decisions before you’re jogging to catch up.]
Heat crept into Riley’s face and she hated it, because it wasn’t humiliation—it was recognition. There were pieces of that she’d never locked down ahead of time. She’d relied on instincts and training and momentum and told herself that was enough.
[That’s not paranoia,] Torres added. [That’s preparation.]
Riley stared at him through the monitor, then let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I don’t want comfort,” she said, quieter. “I don’t want someone to tell me it’s fine.”
[Comfort is cheap,] Torres said. [Anyone can give you comfort.]
Riley’s jaw set. “I want to know how you carry it. When you screw up early. When it matters.” Her voice roughened, just a little. “Because I don’t know how to hold this without it digging in. Without it turning into fear the next time someone puts responsibility in my hands.”
Torres didn’t soften. But his tone shifted—less instructor, more real.
[Here’s the line you asked for,] he said. [You own your decisions, and you document your lessons. You do not own outcomes you did not control.]
Riley’s throat tightened, and for a second she almost let herself believe that would be enough.
It wasn’t.
== TBC ==
He lifted one hand slightly, counting without theatrics.
[First: I want five bullet points. Not a novel. Five. What you knew at the time. What you assumed. What you did. What you should do differently next time with the same information.]
Riley frowned. “With the same information.”
[Yes,] Torres said. [Not with what you learned later. Not with hindsight. With what you actually had in your hands then.]
Her jaw tightened—because it meant she couldn’t rewrite the night into a version where she was always smarter, faster, and a step ahead. It meant she had to look at who she’d been in the moment, not who she wanted to be now.
Riley nodded once. “Okay.”
[Second,] Torres continued, [you’re scared this is going to make you hesitate next time.]
The words put a finger on the bruise. Riley didn’t deny it, because denial was what she’d been doing for days.
[Good,] Torres said. [That fear has teeth. You just don’t let it drive. You solve hesitation by pre-loading your decision tree.]
Riley blinked. “My… decision tree.”
[Yes,] Torres replied, like she’d asked what gravity was. [When you’re given escort duty on someone flagged as a risk, you don’t improvise your control plan mid-walk. You set conditions up front. Where you position yourself. What counts as a break in compliance. What you do if they stop, if they run, if a door closes, if you lose line-of-sight. You make those decisions before you’re jogging to catch up.]
Heat crept into Riley’s face and she hated it, because it wasn’t humiliation—it was recognition. There were pieces of that she’d never locked down ahead of time. She’d relied on instincts and training and momentum and told herself that was enough.
[That’s not paranoia,] Torres added. [That’s preparation.]
Riley stared at him through the monitor, then let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I don’t want comfort,” she said, quieter. “I don’t want someone to tell me it’s fine.”
[Comfort is cheap,] Torres said. [Anyone can give you comfort.]
Riley’s jaw set. “I want to know how you carry it. When you screw up early. When it matters.” Her voice roughened, just a little. “Because I don’t know how to hold this without it digging in. Without it turning into fear the next time someone puts responsibility in my hands.”
Torres didn’t soften. But his tone shifted—less instructor, more real.
[Here’s the line you asked for,] he said. [You own your decisions, and you document your lessons. You do not own outcomes you did not control.]
Riley’s throat tightened, and for a second she almost let herself believe that would be enough.
It wasn’t.
== TBC ==