His dress and appearance were correct at first glance.
His posture was not.
His eyes were too bright.
His movements had a fraction too much aggression.
His balance was slightly off.
The alcohol had not made him stumble.
It had made him louder.
She had seen that pattern before.
Not just in bars.
In staging areas.
In barracks.
In places where fear and exhaustion turned into bad judgment.
Crawford leaned toward her again.
“You people think this uniform is a costume.”
Jessica’s gaze sharpened.
“You people?”
“Civilians.”
“You decided I’m a civilian.”
“You refuse to identify yourself.”
“I refused to hand you my identification.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
His jaw flexed.
“You enjoy this?”
Jessica almost smiled.
“No.”
“You sure act like it.”
“I’m waiting for you to stop.”
That answer quieted him.
Not because he understood it.
Because it sounded like a verdict.
He tightened his grip again.
