The folder rested on her lap, sealed with a red tab. My name was printed across the top.
MADISON R. PARKER.
Underneath it, another label had been stamped in black ink.
RESTRICTED REVIEW.
My stomach tightened.
Restricted review meant something official. Something beyond ordinary discipline. Something that reached higher than rumors, higher than embarrassment, higher than Academy gossip.
We stopped outside a brick administrative building.
Captain Hayes stepped out first.
“Inside,” she said.
I followed her through polished corridors that smelled faintly of floor wax and old paper. Officers glanced up as we passed. No one smiled.
At the end of the hallway, she opened a conference room door.
Three people waited inside.
One was Commander Sloane, my company officer.
One was a legal officer I had never met.
And the third man sat with his hands folded on the table, wearing civilian clothes.
He had gray hair, broad shoulders, and the stillness of someone who had spent a lifetime learning how not to waste movement.
