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She kept mopping.
But Master Sergeant Ryan Keller, walking two paces behind the officers, felt something cold move through his chest. He had spent enough years around combat professionals to recognize what civilians and vain officers missed. The woman’s posture was wrong for ordinary labor. Too balanced. Too aware. She was not merely moving a mop. She was controlling space.
Sloan kept smiling, encouraged by silence. “Come on,” he said. “No personality?”
Still she did not react. Only a small tightening near her jaw betrayed that she had heard every word.
Ryan watched her hands. She held the mop shaft loosely, but not lazily. She shifted her weight in short, efficient adjustments that reminded him of range instructors and close-quarters professionals, not maintenance staff. Then she paused.
Just for half a second.
Her head tilted almost imperceptibly toward the far end of the hall.
Ryan heard nothing.
Neither did the officers.
Then came the sound.
