The noise inside the mess hall dropped like someone had flipped a switch.
Two hundred soldiers paused mid-conversation. Forks stopped halfway to mouths. Chairs scraped quietly as heads turned.
Every eye landed on the same person.
The woman standing near the counter.
She looked… wrong.
Not in a dramatic way. Not in a threatening way.
Just wrong for this place.
She couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four, maybe one-twenty pounds soaking wet. Her pale blond hair was tied up in a loose knot that looked more accidental than intentional, soft strands falling around a face that still carried a hint of youthfulness that didn’t belong in a room full of hardened service members.
Her eyes were blue, almost too bright under the fluorescent lights.
And her uniform… well, that was the problem.
