Officers from every branch of the military stood in small groups, holding glasses of sparkling water or champagne.

I saw the looks change as I walked past.

The whispers died down, replaced by respectful nods and the occasional quiet greeting.

“Colonel Rogers,” a voice said to my left.

I turned to see Captain Hayes walking toward me, a glass of water in his hand.

His retired Navy SEAL pin caught the light on his lapel.

“Captain,” I said, shaking his hand. “I am glad you made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything, Emerson,” Hayes said, his voice low. “You earned this day.”

“We earned it,” I corrected him. “Your testimony made all the difference.”

“No,” Hayes said, shaking his head. “I just told the truth. You had to survive long enough for the truth to matter.”

He glanced past my shoulder toward the far side of the ballroom.

“Your family is here,” he said, his tone dropping.

I followed his gaze.

Helen Rogers stood near the ice sculpture, draped in a dark silk dress that looked like armor.