The Faded Shield
The chandelier above the marble floor of the Pentagon’s East Room was not merely a light source; it was a constellation of cold, surgical brilliance that pinned us to the earth. I stood at the periphery of the gala, my uniform pressed to a severity that felt less like discipline and more like a shroud. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the metallic tang of fear. I was a...
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