Subject’s biological next of kin listed as: Linda Carroway.
Linda.
My mother-in-law.
Except according to the record, she was not Ryan’s mother.
She was his aunt.
I read it twice before my mind accepted what my eyes already knew. Linda had not raised Ryan as a son. She had helped create him as a replacement.
The phone on my desk rang.
Not my personal phone. The office line.
Alvarez glanced at it, then at me.
Only three people had this number so far: my assistant, the commanding general’s office, and base security.
I answered. “Colonel Whitaker.”
The voice that came through was thin, trembling, and familiar.
“Emily.”
Linda.
My skin tightened.
I looked at Alvarez and lifted one finger, signaling him to stay.
“How did you get this number?” I asked.
“You need to come home,” Linda said. “This has gone too far.”
“Home?” I repeated softly.
“Yes. Home. Where your family is.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because there are moments when cruelty becomes so rehearsed it starts to sound theatrical.
“You shaved my head while I slept,” I said. “You called it discipline. Ryan called it correction. Now you want to talk about family?”
There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice lost its tremble.
“You were going to leave him behind.”
“No,” I said. “I was going to take command.
