PART 3
Dinner started under a tent lit by chandeliers.
Of course Arthur had chandeliers in a tent.
The seating chart placed me directly across from Fiona, Arthur, and Donovan.
Strategic.
Arthur loved arranging emotional cage fights and calling them family moments.
Wine flowed.
Fiona talked.
She told stories about training, deployments, pressure, leadership, and every heroic phrase she had collected like designer handbags.
She knew how to perform.
Not how to shoot.
But how to make people lean forward.
Donovan’s uncle, Malcolm Reed, sat beside me.
Retired attorney.
Quiet eyes.
Dangerous calm.
He looked at Fiona and said, “I’ve heard about the badge all evening. Tell us the hardest moment.”
Fiona lit up.
“Oh, definitely the final stalking exercise.”
I set down my knife.
Here we go.
“They dropped us into brutal terrain after days without sleep,” she said. “Freezing rain. Mud. No food. Instructors hunting us.”
Then she lowered her voice.
May you like
“The worst one was Wraith.”
My glass stopped halfway to my mouth.
