The woman beside Mark had gone pale.
I recognized her now.
Captain Elise Warren.
My executive officer.
She had joined my command three months earlier: polished, efficient, careful with her words, and always seeming to know more than she volunteered. I had respected her professionalism, but I had never fully trusted her.
In our work, instinct mattered.
Mine had been right.
“Captain Warren,” General Hayes said, voice calm enough to freeze the room, “step away from the civilian.”
Elise’s eyes flicked toward Mark, then back to the general.
“Yes, sir.”
She moved one pace aside, hands at her seams, chin lifted. But I saw the tremor in her fingers.
Mark saw it too.
“Elise? What is going on?”
The name landed strangely.
Elise.
Not Captain Warren.
Not a coworker.
Elise.
General Hayes looked at Mark.
“Mr. Whitmore, this is a restricted medical wing. You were permitted entry as Colonel Whitmore’s spouse. I am now asking you to leave.”
