I followed him into a quieter corridor outside the ballroom.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Ethan exhaled.
“I knew about Lantern Bridge.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
“Not everything.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I was still in the Army then.
Our unit supported equipment movement for one piece of the response.
We got a summary afterward.”
My mind moved quickly backward.
Seven years.
Ethan had been a first lieutenant.
“You knew I was involved?”
“No.”
“Then what did you know?”
“That the planning cell was led by an officer named Bennett.”
I waited.
He looked ashamed.
“I wondered.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“You wondered?”
“Claire—”
“You heard that an officer named Bennett led the operation, and you never asked me?”
“I did ask you.”
“No.
You asked what I was doing that year, and I told you I couldn’t discuss it.”
“I know.”
“Then you let Dad keep making jokes.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
The single word stopped me.
He did not defend himself.
“I should have said something,” he continued.
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew enough to stop laughing.”
That was fair.
I leaned against the wall.
Through the ballroom doors, I could hear distant applause for another speaker.
Ethan said, “Do you know why I didn’t?”
I looked at him.
“Because Dad finally respected me.”
I said nothing.
His voice dropped.
“When I commissioned, suddenly he introduced me to everyone as Captain Bennett before I was even a captain.
He memorized the names of my units.
He bought that ridiculous display case.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
The display case was ridiculous.
It was large enough for the medals of a nineteenth-century field marshal.
Ethan continued.
“You were already the capable one.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You were.”
“That isn’t how Dad treated me.”
“Not Dad.
Everybody else.”
He looked down the corridor.
“You got the scholarships.
You left home.
You handled everything yourself.
Mom used to say, ‘Ask Claire, she’ll know what to do.’
Madison called you whenever she had a problem.
Even I did.”
