One of the older instructors behind Grace shifted and went to attention.
Not because anyone ordered him.
Because something inside him demanded it.
The General turned slightly—not just addressing Huxley now, but the entire formation.
“Have you ever heard of Operation Ghostline?” he asked, voice level.
Huxley didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened, then closed.
Like his confidence finally found the bottom of a well.
“No, sir,” he muttered.
The General nodded once.
“Four years ago, a seven-person recon team got dropped behind the Larian Divide,” he said. “Remote. Cold. Hostile.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
“They were sent in to confirm intel on a weapons facility we weren’t supposed to know existed.”
A pause.
Not for drama.
Because saying it still cost him something.
“What should’ve taken forty-eight hours turned into eight days,” he continued.
You could hear boots shifting in the dirt, tiny movements people couldn’t control.
