The officers seated near the front row turned their heads as I passed. Some of them knew me by reputation. Some of them had only read my file that morning. Others simply understood, from Jason’s expression alone, that something far larger than a ceremonial handoff was happening.
When I reached the stairs, a young lieutenant stepped forward and saluted.
“Captain Monroe.”
I returned the salute.
“Lieutenant.”
He moved aside.
Jason’s eyes followed the briefcase.
That briefcase had once belonged to him.
Not officially.
Not according to property logs.
But I had seen it on his desk years ago, back when I still believed he was family in more than name. Back when I thought my sister had married a man of honor. Back when I believed the military protected truth simply because truth mattered.
I was younger then.
Not naive, exactly.
Just loyal.
Loyal to my uniform.
Loyal to my family.
