“You could stop this with one word,” my mother said.

I looked at the silver eagles pinned to my shoulders.

They felt incredibly heavy.

“I don’t have that power, Mother,” I said.

“And even if I did, I wouldn’t use it,” I added.

“Emily!” my father barked, his voice carrying the old authority he used to hold over our dinner table.

It didn’t work anymore.

The room felt cold despite the Texas heat pressing against the double-paned windows.

“We are going to the conference room,” I said.

I walked to the door and held it open.

Claire stood up slowly, her knees shaking slightly.

She didn’t look at me as she walked past.

She smelled of expensive French perfume and stale sweat.

We walked down the long corridor of the headquarters building.

The walls were lined with framed portraits of past commanders.

Every single one of them seemed to be staring down at us with stern, unblinking eyes.

We entered the small conference room at the end of the hall.

It was a functional room with a laminate table, six chairs, and a white board covered in old dry-erase marker stains.