It was small at first. A slight loosening around her mouth. A flicker in her eyes. The first crack in a belief she had polished for years.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
General Prescott closed the folder in front of her.
“Colonel Turner,” she said, “you will step aside for the remainder of the procedural transfer.”
The parade field went silent.
Jason looked at the soldiers.
Then at the officers.
Then at me.
“You planned this,” he said under his breath.
I kept my voice low.
“No. You did.”
For the first time, he had no answer.
Two officers approached him, not aggressively, not publicly humiliating him, simply carrying out an instruction with the quiet professionalism of people who understood that dignity belonged to the institution, not the individual who had tested it.
Jason stepped back from the podium.
His hand brushed the edge of the table where the briefcase sat.
