Another pause.
He looked back at the screens, at the names, at the connections.
“You’re sitting on evidence of serious charges,” he said. “You understand that?”
“I do.”
“And you’re choosing not to escalate.”
“Not yet.”
He turned fully toward me.
“Why?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Because this isn’t the whole picture.”
He waited.
I continued.
“This is what they’ve done,” I said, nodding toward the data. “I want to see what they’re about to do.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“That’s a risk.”
“So is moving too early.”
He considered that, then asked the question that mattered.
“You think there’s more?”
I met his gaze.
“I know there is.”
Silence again.
Longer this time.
The kind where decisions get made.
He straightened slightly.
“If this blows back—”
“It won’t,” I said.
He didn’t look convinced.
“That’s not a guarantee.”
“No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”
I turned back to the keyboard, opened a command line, typed in a short sequence, encrypted the entire file set under a secondary layer, then added a lock.
Manual access only.
No external visibility.
I hit enter.
The system confirmed.
Secured.
I leaned back slightly and looked at the screens one more time. At the clean lines. At the names. At the structure they thought nobody would ever see clearly.
Then I spoke.
“Not yet.”
My voice was calm. Flat. Controlled.
“I want to see how far they’re willing to take this.”
The agent watched me for a second longer, then gave a small nod. Not approval. Not agreement. Just acknowledgment.
He turned and walked toward the door.
“Don’t wait too long,” he said before stepping out.
The door closed behind him.
The room went quiet again. Just the hum of the system and the data sitting there waiting.
I rested my fingers lightly on the keyboard.
Then I pulled up one more file.
Event schedules. Military honors. Public appearances.
Morgan’s name came up fast.
Of course it did.
I stared at the date, the location, the guest list.
Then I leaned back and let out a slow breath.
They weren’t done. Not even close.
And neither was I.
I shut down my terminal and stood up, already planning my next move, when the alert hit my inbox.
Not operational. Not classified.
Administrative.
That alone was enough to make me stop.
I opened it.
Immediate appearance required. Base legal office.
No chain-of-command routing. No prior notice. No explanation. Just a timestamp marked urgent.
I checked the sender.
Base legal. Not my unit. Not my superior.
That wasn’t normal.
I grabbed my cover, slid it under my arm, and headed out of the SCIF without wasting another second.
The hallway outside felt brighter than usual. Too bright after hours under filtered light.
People moved past me like nothing had changed. Conversations, laughter, routine, normal.
That’s how things look right before they aren’t.
The legal office sat on the opposite side of the building. Clean walls. Neutral colors. The kind of place designed to feel controlled.
I walked in and gave my name.
The receptionist didn’t ask questions, just picked up the phone, said a few quiet words, then gestured toward a closed door.
“They’re expecting you.”
Of course they were.
I stepped inside.
Two people at the table. One I recognized. Legal officer, mid-career, careful posture. The kind of man who followed rules until someone more powerful told him not to.
The other chair was empty, but I didn’t need to guess who had been sitting there earlier. There was still a glass of water on the table, untouched.
I took the seat across from him without waiting to be told.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he opened a folder in front of him. Thick. Organized. Tabs already placed. Prepared.
That told me everything.
“This is a formal review,” he said finally.
“Of what?”
He slid the folder slightly toward me.
“Your fitness for continued service.”
I didn’t reach for it.
“Based on?”
He hesitated just a fraction, then pushed forward.
“Medical concerns,” he said. “Behavioral irregularities.”
I almost smiled.
“Let me guess,” I said. “This came in fast.”
He didn’t confirm it.
Didn’t deny it either.
Instead, he turned a page and tapped a paragraph.
“There are reports indicating signs of psychological instability,” he continued. “Sleep deprivation. Paranoia. Erratic judgment.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“From who?”
Another pause.
Then: “Family testimony.”
