“You’re not authorized to wear it,” he continued. “I checked your file. Logistics. No special operations record. No attached units. Nothing that justifies it.”
“I understand.”
There was a pause. He studied her for a moment, perhaps expecting resistance, or at least an explanation. But she didn’t offer one. Instead, she reached up slowly, carefully, and unpinned the patch. The way she held it—gently, almost reverently—made something in the room feel heavier than before.
“Where did you get it?” he asked, softer now, curiosity slipping through the cracks of authority.
Mara looked at the patch for a moment before answering. “From someone who asked me to keep it safe.”
“That someone…?”
She met his eyes, and for the first time, there was something there—not anger, not defiance, but something deeper. Something final.
“He’s not here to answer questions.”
Redding didn’t push further. He simply nodded, dismissing her.
But the story didn’t end there. It never does.
