Mason looked away.
Tyler swallowed.
That was all I needed to see.
They were scared.
Not of punishment.
Of someone else.
Before I could press further, Commander Sloane’s voice cut across the steps.
“Problem?”
Bradley snapped upright.
“No, sir.”
I turned.
“No, sir.”
Commander Sloane looked between us.
“Move along.”
We obeyed.
But as Bradley walked away, his shoulders looked smaller.
That night, the Academy was restless.
The video had spread further. News accounts were circling. Veterans were arguing online. Former midshipmen were naming patterns. Anonymous posts appeared and disappeared.
Some defended Bradley.
Most did not.
But the story had grown beyond me.
By 2200, I was sitting at my desk, pretending to review navigation principles while my roommate, Alicia Grant, watched me from her bunk.
Alicia was from Chicago, sharp as a blade, and emotionally impossible to fool.
“You’re not reading,” she said.
“I’m trying.”
“No, you’re staring at the same paragraph like it owes you money.”
I closed the book.
She climbed down from her bunk.
“Is it true?”
“That depends.”
“About the SEAL commander.”
“Yes.”
“About the guy in the video not being a student?”
