“She’s attached to a joint operations task force.”
A murmur spread faintly through the room.
Joint operations.
That explained some things.
But not all.
Dalton scoffed anyway.
“That still doesn’t excuse—”
Ramirez cut him off.
“You really don’t understand what’s happening.”
And then Warren finally decided the room had heard enough.
He turned toward Lena.
“Director wants this contained immediately.”
Lena nodded once.
“Understood.”
Director?
Dalton’s stomach tightened.
Not commander.
Not captain.
Director.
Federal language.
Intelligence language.
Suddenly memories resurfaced in his mind.
The strange respect senior officers gave her.
The way certain SEAL teams greeted her casually despite barely acknowledging most officers.
The fact that her personnel file had entire sections inaccessible even to command staff.
At the time, Dalton assumed it was administrative nonsense.
Now he understood.
Those sections weren’t hidden because she was unimportant.
They were hidden because he lacked the clearance to read them.
And for the first time all day—
real fear appeared in his eyes.
Warren noticed immediately.
“There it is,” he said quietly.
Dalton looked furious again.
But fear and anger often look similar from a distance.
“What exactly is she?” he demanded.
Lena answered before Warren could.
“I’m the person who gave you every opportunity to walk away.”
Her calmness shattered whatever remained of Dalton’s confidence.
Because violent people understand violence.
But calm restraint?
That terrifies them.
Especially when they realize it was intentional.
The gym doors opened again.
This time, two uniformed Naval security officers entered.
They approached carefully.
Not casually.
Carefully.
As though they’d been warned.
One looked toward Warren first.
“Sir?”
Warren nodded toward Dalton.
“Lieutenant Eric Dalton is being detained pending assault charges and formal investigation.”
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