The children in the front row turned their heads toward the door.
Ms.
Harrow frowned, her marker freezing against the whiteboard: “Class, keep your eyes on the board.
The hallway is—”
*CREEEAK.*
The solid oak classroom door of Room 3B did not rattle; it swung open on its oiled brass hinges with deliberate, terrifying mechanical authority.
Stepping through the threshold…
His service cap positioned with millimeter precision, the five rows of combat ribbons gleaming on his chest, the solid-silver insignia catching the fluorescent ceiling lights…
Came Staff Sergeant Ben Reed.
And trotting beside his left knee, stepping into the room with silent, predatory discipline, his amber eyes locking onto Clara with sudden, radiant recognition…
