Luella had hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to help, but because walking back into this world meant confronting ghosts she’d worked hard to leave behind. Still, she’d said yes—because she remembered being twenty-two and terrified, running beside women and men who’d already proven themselves, learning what real strength looked like when nobody was watching.

She grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat and stepped out into the cool morning air. Inside the bag, wrapped carefully in a gym towel, was a photograph from 2009: six operators in full gear, faces obscured by balaclavas and night vision mounts, standing in front of a Chinook helicopter. Three of those faces would never make it home. The mission had no official name, existed in no public record, but it had saved an entire village from being wiped off the map.

The training command building rose ahead, all bureaucratic efficiency and nautical tradition. Luella pushed through the heavy doors into a blast of heated air that smelled of coffee and paper. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across walls covered in motivational posters about honor, courage, and commitment. A duty board near the entrance listed the day’s training schedule in precise military time notation.