Chapter 2
The room went silent.
Only for a breath.
But it was enough.
Vance felt it.
His face changed.
The smile vanished.
I had not hit him.
I had not humiliated him.
I had only refused to be where he expected me to be.
That was enough to make him dangerous.
Lowell stepped closer.
“Reset.”
Vance did not reset.
He lunged.
This time it was not a show.
His hand shot for my collar.
I slipped back.
He grabbed fabric.
The seam pulled tight against my throat.
Instinct took over again.
I trapped his wrist, turned under his arm, and used his own forward weight.
He hit the mat on one knee.
Hard.
A sharp gasp moved through the room.
Someone whispered, “Damn.”
My heart pounded.
I let go immediately.
I stepped back with both hands raised.
“I’m good,” I said. “We’re good.”
Vance rose slowly.
His ears turned red.
Lowell’s eyes narrowed.
“Vance.”
But Vance looked only at me.
“You think that was smart?”
I swallowed.
“I think it was training.”
His jaw clenched.
Then he came again.
Fast.
Too fast for a controlled drill.
His shoulder drove into me.
Air left my lungs.
I stumbled back.
He hooked my leg and slammed me down.
The mat hit my spine.
Pain flashed white behind my eyes.
The room blurred.
Lowell blew the whistle.
Sharp.
“Break!”
Vance dropped close to my ear, pretending to adjust his grip.
His voice was low enough for only me.
“Your father should have stayed buried.”
My blood went cold.
For two years, no one on any base had said my father’s name to my face.
Colonel Aaron Lee.
Dead in a convoy blast outside Kabul.
Declared careless.
Blamed for equipment failure.
His record stained after his funeral.
My mother had collapsed when the investigation report came.
My brother had punched a wall until two fingers broke.
I had joined the Army because grief needed somewhere to stand.
Then Colonel Richard Vance had transferred me here.
To his base.
To his son’s mat.
I looked at Brock.
He smiled again.
Small.
Secret.
He knew exactly where to cut.
I shoved him off me and stood.
Lowell stepped between us.
“That’s enough.”
Vance spread his hands.
“What? She slipped.”
I said nothing.
Because my throat had closed around my father’s name.
After training, everyone avoided my eyes.
That was almost worse than laughing.
Pity from cowards feels like dirt on your skin.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the locker room.
Vance blocked the hallway.
Two of his friends stood behind him.
“Careful, Lee,” he said. “People with your last name don’t do well in Security Forces.”
I tried to move past him.
He stepped with me.
“My father says your dad got good men killed because he couldn’t follow procedure.”
Something cracked inside my chest.
“My father saved men.”
Vance leaned closer.
“Your father stole gear. Then he died before he could answer for it.”
I slapped him.
The sound echoed down the hallway.
His friends froze.
Vance touched his cheek.
Then he smiled.
“Good.”
That scared me.
Not his anger.
His satisfaction.
He wanted me to lose control.
A camera blinked above the hallway.
He had positioned himself under it.
His friends stepped back like witnesses.
Vance raised his voice.
“Specialist Lee, stand down.”
My stomach dropped.
He had baited me.
Boots sounded from the corner.
Lowell appeared.
Behind him was Captain Reeves.
And behind Reeves stood Colonel Richard Vance.
Brock’s father.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Expressionless.
He looked at me, then at his son’s red cheek.
Brock’s voice shook with fake restraint.
“She attacked me, sir.”
I stared at him.
“You followed me.”
Colonel Vance did not look at his son.
May you like
He looked at me.
“Specialist Lee,” he said, “my office. Now.”
