“Sorry, ma’am,” he said calmly. “You’re not on the access list.”
I felt a small knot tighten in my chest.
“That can’t be right,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I’m here for Lieutenant Commander Miles Carver. I’m his sister.”“I still need authorization from your sponsor,” he explained. “If he confirms—”
A laugh cut through the air behind me before the officer could finish.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
Miles had always had a very distinctive laugh—sharp, confident, and slightly too loud for the moment it was placed in.
When I did turn, I saw him walking toward the checkpoint in his pristine white dress uniform, flanked by our parents as if they were part of a small parade.
My mother, Diane Carver, adjusted the pale scarf around her neck while my father, Gerald, walked beside her with the quiet seriousness he reserved for public events.
Miles stopped next to the desk and looked at the officer.
“She’s just here to watch,” he said with an amused grin. “Don’t worry about it. She won’t be on any lists.”
The officer looked between us uncertainly.
