“Sir.”
“At ease.
I’m interrupting.”
His gaze moved politely across my family.
Dad straightened.
Harrington looked at Ethan.
“Former Captain Bennett?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I remember your name from the support roster.”
Ethan looked startled.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work on that mission.”
Three sentences.
That was all.
But I watched something change in Ethan’s expression.
The general had acknowledged his contribution without making it compete with mine.
Perhaps that was what our family should have learned years ago.
Pride did not have to be rationed.
Harrington turned back to me.
“There’s someone here who has been asking to see you.”
“Who?”
He glanced toward the entrance.
An elegant woman in her late seventies stood beside the doorway, leaning lightly on a silver-handled cane.
For a moment, I didn’t recognize her.
Then she smiled.
Seven years disappeared.
I remembered a crowded staging room.
A broken lift.
A passenger manifest.
