She held a glass of white wine, her fingers pale where they gripped the stem.

Michael stood beside her, his Navy dress whites immaculate, but his posture was slumped.

He looked smaller than he had when we were children, stripped of the unearned confidence Helen had spent his life building for him.

Helen caught my eye.

She did not smile, nor did she look away.

She raised her glass slightly, a gesture that was more of a challenge than a greeting.

“They look like they’ve already lost,” Hayes murmured.

“They have,” I said. “They just don’t know the extent of it yet.”

I felt the note in my inner pocket press against my chest as I breathed.

The July 14th deployment logs.

My father’s death.

I had to put those thoughts in a compartment for now.

“Go on,” Hayes said, patting my shoulder. “The General is looking for you.”

I walked toward the front of the ballroom, where a small wooden stage had been set up.

General Drummond stood near the microphone, talking to a pair of senior staff officers.