Daniel flinched, looking up, his face twisting into arrogant annoyance. “Excuse me — what the hell is this? We’re in a closed, classified session, you can’t—”

His voice died in his throat.

The blood drained from his face so fast he looked like wax. His hand shook, and the Montblanc slipped from his fingers and clattered against the mahogany.

I walked in, my polished oxfords clicking against the floor.

I was no longer in maternity clothes or milk-stained sweatpants. I wore my Class-A Army Service Uniform, the dark fabric pressed sharp, the silver eagles of a full colonel catching the light on my epaulets, three rows of commendation ribbons — earned in blood and sand and classified rooms — across my chest.

Behind me, in perfect step, came General Mercer and four armed Military Police, hands resting on their sidearms.