“He is here with Major Vance and the escort.”

The General did not lift his finger from the button.

“Send them in immediately,” he said.

He released the button, and the static cut out.

I stood straight, my boots pressed together, my eyes fixed on the mahogany door.

Beside me, Claire let out a sharp, ragged breath.

My mother reached for Claire’s hand, her own fingers trembling so hard she could barely grasp her daughter’s wrist.

My father remained still, his face pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.

The door handle turned with a heavy metallic click.

The heavy door swung open, admitting a draft of warm air from the hallway.

Andrew Carter walked in first.

His uniform looked slightly damp, the collar of his shirt pressed tight against his throat.

He looked at the General, then at me, and finally at Claire.

His eyes narrowed when he saw the tears on her face.

Behind him came Major Vance, the Provost Marshal, wearing his duty belt and a crisp black armband.

Two military police officers followed, their boots clicking in unison on the linoleum floor.