I thought I was ready for whatever was waiting for me in that office.
I was wrong about that.
The office overlooked the water. Late afternoon light stretched long across polished wooden floors, and the room smelled of old paper and salt air, the particular combination that accumulates in places where serious things have been decided for many years. Admiral Whitaker stood behind his desk with his hands resting lightly on the surface, and he was watching me with the focused patience of a man accustomed to reading situations rather than explaining them.
He was not alone.
My father stood near the desk. He turned when he heard me enter, and for one brief unguarded second his face went pale before he assembled his expression back into the controlled blankness he deployed when he wanted to appear unbothered. I had seen that transition my entire life. I had never understood until this moment what it actually meant.
Something inside me went very still.
“Lieutenant Harper,” the admiral said. “I see you made it.”
“Yes, sir.”
My father attempted a small smile. “Funny. I didn’t realize this was going to be a family meeting.” His tone was pleasant on the surface, but underneath it ran that particular edge he reserved for rooms he believed he should be controlling.
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” I said.
