The sun peeks through a slit in the drawn blinds, casting a harsh slash of light across Jack’s face. Blinding white splashes over his vision, drawing a faint scowl. Another morning. Another fresh batch of recruits. Overwatch HQ’s sparring mats are already humming with the slaps of flesh on canvas. Jack downs a lukewarm coffee (black, with a hint of bitterness tickling his tongue) as he surveys the scene from the edge of the training floor. A few cadets trade strikes. His gaze lands on one in particular — a raw, untapped edge. A faint spark of something dancing behind their eyes. Jack’s throat constricts slightly as his gaze is met. He clears it with a gruff cough. “You,” Jack barks across the room, finger leveled at the rookie. The other recruits visibly stiffen. Jack’s lips twitch upward in a hint of a smirk. “Yeah. You. Get over here. Let’s see what you’ve got.”