Not Rebecca Parker.
Me.
I had spent weeks pretending to be weak.
Pretending not to notice.
Pretending I was only surviving.
But someone had seen through the camouflage.
Or feared that I would.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
Hayes held my gaze.
“That may not matter.”
My father turned toward her.
“What are you doing about Sloane?”
Captain Hayes did not blink.
“Watching him.”
“So you know.”
“I know enough to keep him close.”
That answer told me everything.
Commander Sloane had not simply been included in the inquiry.
He had been bait.
Or a suspect.
Or both.
Captain Hayes picked up the photograph.
“Where is the original?”
My father did not answer.
Hayes’s eyes sharpened.
“Master Sergeant.”
“Safe.”
“Good.”
She slipped the copy into her folder.
Then she looked at me.
“Midshipman Parker, you are being temporarily moved.”
My stomach tightened.
“To where?”
“A secured room under observation.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
My father’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Captain Hayes’s voice cooled.
“That was not a request.”
“With respect, ma’am, moving me openly confirms I’m scared and isolates me.”
“You are under threat.”
“Yes, ma’am. And whoever sent that note wants disruption. They want me pulled from routine, separated, watched. It makes me easier to track and easier to define as unstable.”
My mother’s eyes flickered.
