“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No. You’re trying to control me. That’s what you understand. That’s the only language you speak.”
He stepped back like she’d physically struck him.
“I’m not your soldier,” she said. “And I’m not Mom. You don’t get to manage me the way you ran squadrons.”
His hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words got jammed somewhere in his throat. “Shannon…”
She cut him off with the softest, deadliest words she had. “I don’t feel safe here.”
The silence that followed was a blade that cut him wide open. His shoulders slumped. His mouth opened, then closed. For the first time in months, he looked completely, utterly lost.
And still, he didn’t cry. He didn’t come close. Instead, he just nodded once, like this was a casualty report, and she was another line in it.
She climbed the stairs with rage burning under her skin and didn’t stop until she was behind her bedroom door. It shut with a click. Same sound as the front one. Just… quieter.
Safer.
She dropped to the floor and buried her face in her hands, her body shaking without permission. Not crying—not exactly—just shaking like every atom inside her couldn’t decide whether to run or explode.
CHASE INTERNATIONAL HEADQUARTERS – WASHINGTON, D.C.
The office overlooked the Potomac, with glass walls, no blinds, and the kind of spare decor that said Ian Chase didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He didn’t rise when Ford entered, just motioned to the chair across from him. “Shut the door.”
Ian didn’t waste time. “Mike wants eyes on Shannon, starting the minute she reports to college.”
Ford sat without speaking, feet planted, hands on his knees. “He say why?”
Ian leaned back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “Because he knows what she’s capable of. And he knows how close she is to self-destructing if someone lights the wrong match.”
Ford’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue.
Ian continued, “He didn’t ask for handlers. He asked for presence. Quiet. Unobtrusive. Watchful. If she needs pulling back from a ledge, someone’s there.”
Ford’s voice was low. “You want me to do it.”
Ian shook his head. “You’re already in too deep. She knows you’re close to Mike. She’ll sniff out the setup in a heartbeat.”
Ford nodded once.
“It has to be someone young. Clean. Unfamiliar. Someone who can walk the halls without sticking out.”
“Exactly.”
A pause stretched between them before Ian asked, “Any ideas?”
Ford let his eyes wander toward the floor-to-ceiling window behind Ian. “Maybe. I’ve got a few names.”
Ian opened a drawer, pulled out a folded paper, and slid it across the desk.
Ford glanced down. “Her Air Force Academy essay?”
“She never showed Mike,” Ian said. “Meagan read it the week before she died. Told me it scared her in a good way.”
Ford opened it and read silently.
Some people apply because they want to honor their parents’ path. I’m applying because I’ve seen what service looks like from the inside, and I still want it.
