Chapter 6 - The Rain and the Orders
The wet leather of the dossier gleamed under the amber glow of the porch light, a stark, undeniable anchor pulling me right back into the world I had fought so hard to leave behind.
Rain lashed against the siding of the blue house, drumming a fast, violent rhythm that matched the sudden surge of adrenaline in my veins. I didn't reach for the folder at once. I kept my weight centered, my right hand resting casually against the wooden doorframe, blocking the entry to anyone who might try to peer past me toward the hallway where Noah was sleeping.
“My retirement isn't on hold, Major,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady so it wouldn't carry up the stairs. “My retirement is permanent. DD-214 signed, sealed, and filed eighteen months ago. You have the wrong address, and you’re standing in my rain.”
The officer didn't flinch. He didn't drop his hand holding the dossier, either. Up close, under the harsh light, I recognized the faint, pale line of a shrapnel scar running along his jawline—the kind of souvenir you only picked up in the rugged borderlands of East Africa or the high-altitude passes of the Hindu Kush.
“General Vance doesn't issue requests, Colonel Bennett,” the officer replied, his tone entirely devoid of insolence, carrying only the flat, heavy certainty of a man delivering a death sentence. “And he certainly doesn't accept resignations from officers who left active service with unfinished business in a theater they helped architect.”
A cold draft swept across the porch, carrying the scent of pine and wet asphalt.
“I laid down my commission to raise my son,” I said, my teeth clicking together behind tight lips. “Silver Creek was supposed to be a blank slate. No secure coms, no deployment schedules, no ghosts.”
“Then it’s a good thing the threat isn't coming from overseas,” the major said quietly. He took half a step forward, sliding the waterproof dossier out further. “Open it, Claire. Look at page four. Then tell me you can sleep tonight knowing what’s sitting three hundred miles west of this cul-de-sac.”
May you like
My gaze dropped to the dossier. The department seal was authentic—Department of Defense, Directorate of Special Operations Oversight.
I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the cold, wet leather.
