“You have ten seconds to get back to your seat, Lance Corporal,” I said.

My voice was flat, short and measured, with no more feeling in it than a weather report.

Evan snorted, his boot heel drumming fast on the industrial carpet under his seat.

“Or what?” he asked, spreading his hands wide.

“You gonna write me up on a napkin, ma’am?”

Mason took another step forward and reached out as though to grab Evan’s shoulder, but he stopped short when he saw the look on my face.

“Evan, I’m telling you right now,” Mason muttered, his eyes flicking toward the main concourse walkway behind us.