“It was in the official travel directive,” I said.

“You normally fly in utility fatigues,” Daniel said.

“Class A blues are for ceremonies.”

“The paperwork came down from the general staff late yesterday,” I said.

“It called for full Service Dress on every leg of the trip.”

Daniel stopped, his fingers resting on his watch strap.

“Did anybody tell you why?”

“No, nobody did,” I said.

The kiosk worker pushed a fresh paper lid across the counter, the cardboard scraping over the laminate.

Stale coffee steam drifted out into the open walkway, mixing with the sharp smell of floor wax and jet fuel from the lower gates.

“You look worn out, Sarah,” Daniel said gently.

“Three months of twelve-hour staff shifts overseas, and now they stick you on a multi-leg flight before dawn.”

“The assignment is right on schedule,” I said.

“I just don’t want you hauling extra weight into a tight travel day,” he said.