Mac kept his tone respectful without submission. “Proceed how.”
The High Steward’s eyes moved to Mac, then to Melvin. “You have leave,” he said, and it sounded like a sentence that belonged to the Army and didn’t.
Melvin’s chest tightened. “Granted by who,” he asked.
The High Steward didn’t smile. “By those who can make it possible,” he replied. “Your command will receive its paperwork. Your soldiers will see your absence as ordinary. Your presence elsewhere will be concealed.”
Mac’s jaw tightened. “And Reynolds.”
The High Steward turned to the bed. “Specialist Reynolds will be relocated,” he said.
Reynolds tried to sit up too fast. His voice cracked. “Relocated where?”
The woman Steward’s gaze pinned him. “Where you can be instructed without endangering your unit,” she said.
Reynolds’ breath stuttered. “Instructed by who.”
“By wardens,” the younger Steward said, and his pen scratched once across the page like a verdict.
Melvin watched Reynolds’ fear flare and felt the panther in him rise, not in threat, but in protective anger. Melvin forced his voice level. “You’re moving him stateside now.”
The High Steward’s eyes met his. “Yes.”
“And you’re doing it without the Army’s process,” Melvin said.
“Correct.”
Mac’s voice came lower. “How.”
The High Steward’s gaze drifted briefly to the floor. “Through the Veil,” he said.
Melvin felt his stomach drop, not because the words surprised him, but because they confirmed what his instincts had been screaming.
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Veil Passage.”
The High Steward inclined his head a fraction. “You understand.”
“I understand you’re about to move a U.S. Army soldier out of theater without a flight,” Mac said. “And you’re telling me it will be invisible.”
“It will be accounted for,” the woman Steward corrected. “In your world.”
“And in yours,” Melvin added.
The High Steward’s eyes returned to Melvin. “You are perceptive,” he said.
“Or paranoid,” Melvin replied.
Reynolds’ breathing quickened again. “Wait,” he said, voice thin. “You’re… you’re witches?”
The woman Steward’s expression remained composed. “We are governance,” she said, as if that answered everything.
Melvin leaned closer to Reynolds, voice controlled. “Listen to me,” he said. “You’re going to be moved. You’re going to be trained. That part is happening whether you panic or not. What you can control is how you enter it.”
Reynolds’ eyes darted between them. “Sir,”
Mac stepped closer to the bed, filling the space at the foot like a barrier. “You keep your head,” Mac said. “You keep your name. You don’t let them turn you into a thing that happens to other people. You make choices.”
Reynolds swallowed. “I don’t know how.”
