“You need to be careful.”

“No,” she said. “You do.”

His throat moved.

Then anger rushed in to cover the flicker of alarm.

“You think because you read a file, you know something?”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t know anything.”

The woman looked at the food on the floor.

“I know what people do when they think no one important is watching.”

Mercer’s eyes flashed.

“Important?”

He laughed again, but this time it sounded forced.

“You think you’re important?”

The woman said nothing.

Mercer pointed toward the cafeteria doors.

“Get out.”

She stayed where she was.

“I said get out.”

That single word landed harder than a shout.

Mercer’s face reddened.

The lieutenant behind him swallowed.

“Sir,” he said quietly, “maybe we should stop.”

Mercer spun on him.

“Did I ask you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then don’t talk.”

The lieutenant stared at the floor.

Mercer turned back to the woman.

“You are done here. Whoever sent you can come collect you after I write this up.”

The woman tilted her head slightly.

“Write what up?”

“Insubordination.”

“To whom?”

“To command.”

“Which command?”

Mercer’s mouth tightened.

The woman’s calm was no longer just irritating.

It was dangerous.

Mercer felt it now, though he would never admit it. A room he had controlled two minutes earlier had slipped out of his hands. People were no longer watching her as the target. They were watching him as the man walking toward a cliff.

Still, pride is loudest right before impact.

Mercer looked at the nearest soldiers.

“Everybody back to lunch,” he barked.

No one moved.

He slammed his palm on the table.

“I said back to lunch!”

A few people shifted, but nobody resumed eating.

The woman turned her head slightly toward the young private near the drink station.

“Private.”

The young man stiffened.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Would you please ask the kitchen staff for a mop? Someone could slip.”

Mercer stared at her.

The private hesitated, looking between them.

Mercer snapped, “Don’t move.”

The private froze again.

The woman looked back at Mercer.

“That’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“You’re comfortable giving unlawful personal orders to enlisted personnel in a public facility.”

Mercer stepped so close that only the corner of the table separated them.

“You are not in charge here.”

“No,” she said. “Not of this cafeteria.”

He smiled.

“Exactly.”

She looked toward the spill.

“But I am responsible for what happens next.”

The words were quiet.

Too quiet.

Mercer’s officers shifted behind him.

Major Ellis leaned toward another captain and whispered, “Who is she?”

Mercer heard it.

He hated that he heard it.

He hated even more that he wanted the answer.

The woman reached into her pocket.

Mercer’s voice sharpened.

“Hands where I can see them.”

Her hand stopped.

The cafeteria went colder.

She looked at him.

“Captain Mercer.”

“Don’t test me.”

“I’m taking out my identification.”

“You should’ve done that before sitting down.”

“I was eating lunch.”

His lips pressed together.

She removed a slim black credential wallet and held it at her side, still closed.

Mercer’s eyes dropped to it.

He did not recognize the seal from that distance.

So he chose contempt.

“You think a badge scares me?”

“Good.”

“It should.”

His laugh came late.

The cafeteria doors opened.

Two military police officers entered first.

They did not rush.

They did not speak.

Their presence alone made every soldier in the room straighten.

Mercer turned toward them, annoyed.

“What is this?”

The MPs moved to either side of the entrance and stopped.

Then everyone heard boots in the hallway.

Slow.

Measured.

Heavy with authority.

A command sergeant major entered next.