The whispers spread faster than anyone intended. They always do. By the end of the day, half the base had formed an opinion without ever speaking to her. Words like fraud, poser, and wannabe floated through conversations, passed along with casual certainty. No one questioned the assumption because it fit too neatly into what they expected to see: a quiet logistics officer wearing something she hadn’t earned.
Eventually, the situation reached someone who couldn’t ignore it.
Sergeant Cole Redding had been in logistics long enough to know that small problems, if left alone, had a way of becoming large ones. He called Mara into his office the following morning, closing the door behind her with a soft but deliberate click. His desk was neat, his expression neutral, but there was an edge to his posture that suggested he had already made up his mind.
“Ellison,” he said, folding his hands together, “I’m going to need you to remove that patch.”
Mara’s eyes flickered briefly—not in surprise, but in acknowledgment. “Understood, Sergeant.”
