The paper felt stiff and cold through the thin silk lining.

I walked away from the security desk, my low-quarter shoes clicking against the polished linoleum.

The wind from the storm outside still battered the thick glass windows of the corridor.

I stopped in front of a tall mirror near the entrance to the main ballroom.

I adjusted the high collar of my jacket, ensuring the gold Marine Corps emblems on my lapels were perfectly aligned.

My reflection showed a face that had grown thin and hard over the years of deployment.

But my eyes were clear, free of the doubt that had dogged me during my exile.

I took a deep breath, smoothing the front of my uniform.

The grand double doors of the ballroom stood open just twenty feet away.

Inside, the light was warm and golden, casting long shadows across the high-ceilinged room.

The hum of hundreds of voices drifted out into the quiet hallway, mixed with the faint sound of a brass quintet playing a military march.

I stepped through the threshold.

The room was a sea of blue, white, and gold.