"Where are the funds coming from?" I asked bluntly. No point dancing around it. "Washington?"
Micah shook his head. "No. It's our money."
"What does that mean?"
"Family money," he said simply. "My family's money. Private funding. No government strings. No political agendas we didn't choose ourselves."
I wasn't sure if that was better or worse.
History was littered with the debris of conflicts stirred by family fortunes gone awry. Rich men playing soldier with real lives. Ideologues with checkbooks funding wars that served their interests instead of anyone else's. People who thought money bought righteousness, that wealth equaled wisdom, that good intentions justified any means.
"Why me?" I asked. "I don't need another job. I'm not looking."
Micah thought about that for a moment, his expression thoughtful, like he was choosing his words carefully. "We don't hire often. And when we do, it's slowly. Carefully. We're notlooking to build an army. We're looking for specific people who fit specific needs."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "We're looking for character. Integrity. People who understand what it means to serve something bigger than themselves. Not just skillsets—anyone can learn a skill with enough time and training. We're looking for people who already know why it matters. Who've proven it when no one was watching."
He paused, holding my gaze. "For now, you fit the bill. Might work out. Might not. But we think it's worth exploring. And we're hoping you'll think so, too."
I considered that. It was fair. Honest, even. More honest than most recruitment pitches I'd heard, which usually involved flag-waving and appeals to duty and carefully avoiding anything that sounded like doubt.
"You think this can be accomplished during my three weeks of leave?"
Micah grinned, something amused dancing in his eyes. "That's really up to you."
I didn't know what that meant. Again, there was something he wasn't saying. Something I was supposed to understand, but didn't yet. Like the answer was obvious if I just looked at it from the right angle, if I just asked the right question.
He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and slid it across the polished table with one finger.
It was a card. Black. Heavy. Metal, not plastic. No numbers on the front, just an embossed logo I didn't recognize—geometric, modern, expensive.
I picked it up, feeling the weight of it in my palm. Substantial. Cold against my skin. "What is this?"
"Yours to use," Micah said.
"I don't need money."
Secretly, I didn't want to be in anyone's debt. This could be an easy trap. Take the money, owe the favor, get pulled into something you couldn't walk away from when you realized what it actually cost. I'd seen that game played before.
"You can use it or not," Micah said easily, like it genuinely didn't matter to him either way. "Your choice. But it's there, if you need it. No strings. No expectations. No one tracking what you spend it on or asking questions later."
I set the card back on the table, not touching it again. Leaving it between us like neutral ground. "What now?"
"If you give the okay," Micah said, "we'll start the request process on your records. Medical. Psychological. Service history. Get you in to see a string of doctors who love to poke and prod and ask questions you've already answered a hundred times. Nothing you haven't been through before, I'm sure. Standard vetting. Just ... thorough."
"And if I say no at the end of this?"
Micah shrugged, but something shifted in his expression. Something deeper. Something almost reverent, like he was talking about something sacred. "Then you'd be missing out on something very big. Very special. Something most people never get the chance to be part of."
He leaned forward again, his voice dropping slightly, taking on weight. "I sincerely hope you'll stay, Wyatt. There's a lot of good to do in the world. Real good. The kind that matters. The kind that changes things. And Dominion Hall is on the side of the good guys. I can promise you that."
I thought that was yet to be determined, but I didn't say it. Didn't let it show on my face. Just nodded once, acknowledging the words without agreeing to them.
Instead, I asked, "What happens to my current military enlistment, if I say yes?"
Micah grinned again, wider this time. "That's the easy part. We'll take care of it."
That set me back.
