You don’t even know what that means.
She set Biscuit down.
It means she asked.
There was no argument against that.
The base smelled the same.
Floor wax.
Old coffee.
Cut grass from the parade field.
A faint metallic edge that never left places built around orders.
Ethan drove his old pickup through the gate with Lily’s booster seat still in the back.
He had almost removed it that morning.
Then he left it there.
He did not know why.
Maybe he needed the reminder.
Ava Mercer waited in a conference room with two women beside her.
One was a legal officer.
The other looked like she had not slept.
Ava stood when Ethan entered.
The movement was automatic.
Respectful.
Too controlled.
You don’t have to stand for me, Ethan said.
She sat back down.
Her fingers were wrapped around a paper cup of water.
It trembled slightly.
I’m sorry, she said.
For what?
For dragging you into this.
Ethan took the chair across from her.
My daughter dragged me into it.
Ava’s mouth moved like she almost smiled.
Then her eyes filled and she looked away.
Pike entered last.
He did not sit at the head of the table.
He sat near the wall.
That told Ethan more than any speech could have.
This was not a show.
Pike wanted Ava to own the room.
For the first twenty minutes, she could not.
Her statement began cleanly.
Names.
