She killed the engine and sat there for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel. The parking lot stretched before her, mostly empty except for a row of official vehicles lined up near the training command building. Through the windshield, she could see the obstacle course where the next generation of special warfare candidates would be tested, their voices already carrying across the morning air as they prepared for another day of pushing their limits.

Luella checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Thirty-eight years old. Auburn hair pulled into a simple ponytail. No makeup. The kind of unremarkable appearance that let you blend into any crowd, disappear into any background. She wore faded jeans, running shoes that had seen better days, and a brown leather jacket that hung loose on her frame. To anyone watching, she looked like a civilian contractor—maybe someone’s wife dropping off forgotten paperwork—certainly not anyone who belonged on a military installation.

But Luella wasn’t here by accident. Captain Rebecca Holloway had called two weeks ago, her voice carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights spent managing demanding training schedules. She needed someone to evaluate the new female SEAL candidates—someone who understood what it really took to survive that pipeline. Someone who’d been through hell and came out the other side without breaking.