Dead silence in the conference room. Several officers look like they're trying not to smile. Hutchins stares at me with pure rage, his knuckles white where his hands grip his arms.
Cain's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "Master Sergeant, Miss O'Rourke's work is not only required by federal regulation but has demonstrably improved safety at this installation. If you have concerns about regulatory compliance or resource allocation, you may schedule a meeting with my office to discuss them privately. Disrupting safety briefings with personal commentary is not acceptable. Am I clear?"
"Yes, ma'am." Hutchins bites out the words, but his eyes stay locked on me with undisguised hostility.
"Excellent. Miss O'Rourke, continue your report."
I finish my briefing with clinical precision, presenting remaining data points and answering technical questions from personnel who actually care about preventing bird strikes. Hutchins doesn't ask a single question, doesn't move, just sits there radiating resentment like a physical force.
When the meeting ends, I gather my tablet and head for the door. Hutchins leaves first, his shoulder deliberately bumping mine as he passes. Not hard enough to be assault, just enough to send a message.
Back in my office, I try to focus on afternoon paperwork, but something about that confrontation sits wrong. Hutchins has always been dismissive, always made snide remarks about civilian contractors and women in military spaces. But the rage in his eyes when I shut him down publicly felt different. Felt dangerous.
I'm reviewing habitat modification proposals when my phone buzzes with a text from Mom.
Don't forget your shift tonight. Dinner rush will be busy.
Afternoon stretches into routine tasks until I'm finally ready to head out. I grab my bag and step into the parking lot, squinting against the late afternoon sun.
A note is tucked under my windshield wiper, a piece of paper folded once and secured against the breeze. I assume it's a reminder about a meeting until I unfold it and read the words scrawled in blocky handwriting.
Go home where women belong.
That message hits like a slap. I stare at the paper, anger flaring hot. Six months of earning respect, of proving my worth, and some asshole with a pen thinks he can reduce me to this.
I scan the parking lot, but no one pays attention to me or my truck. Whoever left this could be anyone, could be watching right now.
I fold the note and shove it into my pocket. Keep working. Keep proving them wrong.
But I should report it. I pull out my phone and snap a photo of the note, then send a message to Lieutenant Colonel Cain's office about the harassment and requesting a meeting tomorrow morning.
My truck starts without issue, and I focus on the drive toward Pine Valley. Just words on paper. Ignorance and resentment from someone who can't accept that the military has evolved.
Pine Valley's diner sits on Main Street, warmth spilling from the windows along with the scent of coffee and home cooking. This place has always felt like safety.
Mom looks up from the register when I walk in, her auburn hair pulled back in a practical bun, her smile immediate andgenuine. She built a life here after losing everything that mattered.
"Right on time, sweetheart. Grab an apron and take table six."
I slip into the familiar rhythm of diner work, taking orders and delivering food, chatting with regulars who've known me since we moved here after Dad's funeral. This work grounds me, reminds me that life exists beyond protocols and threat assessments.
Between orders, Mom catches my eye and gestures toward the back. I follow her to the kitchen during a brief lull, where she crosses her arms and studies my face.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Just a long day."
"Andrea Marie, I raised you. Don't lie to your mother."
I pull the note from my pocket and hand it to her, watching anger flash across her features.
"Who left this?"
"No idea. Found it on my truck after work."
"Did you report it?"
"Sent a message to the colonel. I'll meet with her tomorrow." I reclaim the note. "It's probably just some old-guard idiot who doesn't like that a woman tells him how to do his job."
