The rows of ribbons on the chest represented thirty years of service.

I unzipped the bag.

The scent of cedar and starch drifted into the room.

I took down the uniform and laid it carefully on the bed.

From the kitchen, the muffled sound of Daniel’s shouting continued, punctuated by the occasional heavy thud of his fist against the solid wood door.

The phone on the kitchen counter began to vibrate again.

It was not my phone.

It was the secondary, secure line I had just reactivated.

I walked back into the kitchen, my boots clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

I picked up the receiver.

“Mercer,” I said.

“General, your transport is entering the outer perimeter now,” the voice on the other end said.

“We have a secure perimeter setup. Do you require local law enforcement intervention for the civilians on the property?”

I looked through the glass window one last time.

Daniel was on his knees now, peering through the lower pane, his face pale, his phone clutched in his trembling hand.

He was dialing a number, his eyes fixed on the screen as it began to ring.