He was staring straight toward the service corridor.
That was when General Carrick walked in.
Three-star generals don’t usually blend into a room, but Carrick had a way of entering spaces without demanding attention, which in some ways made him more dangerous than the kind who relied on presence alone. He scanned the room quickly, taking in the full tables, the occupied seats, the general layout, and then his gaze landed on mine.
“Mind if I sit here?” he asked.
It was a simple question, delivered without arrogance, which made it harder to ignore.
I didn’t answer the way he expected.
“Sir,” I said, already halfway to standing, “you need to leave. Now.”
His aides stiffened immediately, their posture shifting from relaxed to alert in a way that suggested they weren’t used to enlisted personnel issuing directives, especially not to someone of his rank. Titan let out a low, controlled sound—not quite a growl, not quite a warning, but something in between, something that carried enough weight to make nearby conversations falter.
I didn’t look at the general. I kept my eyes on the service line.
“Sir,” I repeated, louder this time, “clear the hall. Five minutes. No alarms. No panic.”
