PART 2
The training field went silent.
Not completely. Annapolis was never truly silent. Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew. Shoes struck pavement in rhythm. Commands echoed between stone buildings that had shaped generations of officers.
But around me, the air tightened.
The senior officer who had stepped from the black official vehicle was Captain Eleanor Hayes.
Everyone knew her.
Not personally, perhaps, but by reputation. She was one of those officers who seemed carved from regulation and restraint. Her uniform never shifted out of place. Her eyes missed nothing. Her voice could cut through chaos without ever rising.
