“So do tell us,” Alden said, lifting his champagne flute in a mock toast. “What is it you do now? Secretarial work? Some bleeding-heart nonprofit? Teaching?

I heard a vague rumor years ago that you took some low-level government job.”

Griffin leaned his weight onto the table, looming over me. “She always loved pretending that following the rules made her important.”

I could have answered them. I could have listed deployments and duty stations that would have changed the atmospheric pressure of the entire room. I could have named secure facilities, operations, command briefings — decisions I’d made in crushing silence, in rooms where applause was a liability and failure meant flag-draped coffins.

Instead, I looked at my brother and said, “I keep busy.”

Griffin snorted. “That’s exactly what unemployed people say to save face.”