My voice sounded hollow in the small, humid room.

“He authorized the movement of the entire security detail.”

My father smiled.

It was a cold, satisfied expression that made my stomach turn.

“Marcus is a practical man,” my father said. “He understands that certain resources are wasted on the front lines.”

“He’s my commanding officer,” I said. “He swore an oath.”

“He is also a businessman,” my father replied.

The heavy footsteps stopped right outside the office door.

The brass handle began to turn.

The door swung inward with a slow, heavy creak.

Colonel Hayes stood in the threshold.

His green service trench coat was dark and heavy with rainwater.

The water dripped from the fabric onto the rug, leaving dark circles on the wool.

He took off his wet cap and held it by his side.

His grey hair was slicked back against his scalp.

“Captain Brooks,” he said.

His voice was steady, bearing the exact same tone he used during morning briefings.

“Colonel,” I said.

I shifted my stance slightly, angling myself to cover both men in the room.