My answer came instantly. “I do not request leave.”
A faint approval passed across his face. “Understood.”
Sarah said, “Mara, do not return home. Do not answer Ryan. Do not answer Linda. Send everything to me.”
I looked at the neat rows of folders on my desk. Intelligence briefings. Personnel rosters. Transition orders. The architecture of responsibility.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Linda.
A voicemail appeared.
I played it on speaker.
Her voice filled the room, shrill and furious.
“You ungrateful little witch. You think a uniform makes you untouchable? You come home now, or I will show every person on that base what kind of woman you really are. Ryan has papers. We have proof you’re unstable. We have photographs. You’ll lose that command before lunch.”
The voicemail ended.
General Halvorsen’s expression did not change, but the room seemed to grow colder around him.
Sarah said softly, “That was useful.”
I almost smiled.
For the first time since waking up, something like strength moved through me—not rage, not revenge, but clean purpose.
Ryan and Linda believed fear was a leash.
They had no idea fear could become evidence.
