Which was why the laughter came so quickly.
At the far end of the hall, a woman in a faded gray janitorial uniform pushed a mop bucket with quiet, methodical care. She looked small from a distance. Not frail, but easy to overlook. Her hair was pulled back tight. Her sleeves were rolled just enough to show lean forearms darkened by work and sun. Nothing about her invited attention—unless you were the sort of man who liked humiliating people he assumed could not answer back.
Admiral Victor Sloan stopped first.
“Well, look at that,” he said, grin widening as several officers slowed with him. “What’s your tactical designation? Mop Lady?”
The corridor filled with cheap laughter.
Commander Ethan Burke added, “Maybe she can brief us on floor-based threat response.”
Lieutenant Noah Pierce pointed toward the reinforced glass of the armory window. “If you’re cleaning near serious hardware,” he said, “at least tell us whether you know what’s behind that glass.”
The woman did not answer.
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