“You stupid, clumsy—”
Vance shot to his feet, his face darkening beneath his insignia.
Emma immediately dropped to her knees.
“I’m so sorry, sir. The chair—I didn’t see—”
“You didn’t see?”
Vance looked around.
Not at the mess.
At the audience.
Near Table 4, a group of Tier-1 operators watched him in complete silence—rough beards, exhausted eyes, bodies unnaturally still.
Vance wanted them to see him regain control.
“Maybe this’ll help you see better.”
His arm moved.
Not an open-handed slap.
The back of his hand struck Emma across the face.
The crack echoed through the hall.
Her head snapped sideways.
She hit the floor hard, vision blurring as blood spread across her tongue.
Then came Vance’s laugh.
Short.
Ugly.
“Look at you. Crawling like the dog you are. Clean it up. Now.”
He expected tears.
He expected the room to ignore what had happened.
Instead, the temperature of the entire hall seemed to change.
At Table 4, Master Chief “Bear” Cole slowly placed his fork beside his tray.
Bear had survived three helicopter crashes and more firefights than Vance had birthdays.
He didn’t look at the lieutenant.
He looked at Emma.
At the swelling already forming along her cheek.
Then Bear stood.
