The arrivals hall was wide, clean and blessedly free of the chaotic crowds that had packed Gate C27 all afternoon long.

A handful of travelers wandered slowly toward the baggage carousels, their footsteps echoing off the polished terrazzo.

I walked down the broad concourse at a steady, measured pace, my duffel riding easily on my shoulder and my mind already turning toward the briefing waiting for me at headquarters.

My uniform jacket was pressed and smooth, the creases down my sleeves were sharp, and the gold oak leaves on my collar shone under the bright ceiling lights.

General Arthur Vance had personally confirmed the administrative reduction in rank, making sure Private Evan Carter stayed under strict evaluation oversight.

I had chosen not to bring full court-martial charges, turning down the temptation to wreck a young man’s future over one arrogant mistake. Mason Reid and his squad had boarded their flight with a new respect for the chain of command and for real leadership.

I stepped out into the cool evening air outside the destination terminal, my paper travel orders tucked safely in my jacket pocket.

I straightened my brass oak leaf and walked on into the night.