They laughed at her for wearing a patch, assuming it meant nothing and dismissing her entirely. But when she turned around and revealed the tattoo beneath it, the truth shocked everyone and instantly silenced the room.

“You’re not authorized to wear it,” he continued. “I checked your file. Logistics. No special operations record. No attached units. Nothing that justifies it.”

“I understand.”

There was a pause. He studied her for a moment, perhaps expecting resistance, or at least an explanation. But she didn’t offer one. Instead, she reached up slowly, carefully, and unpinned the patch. The way she held it—gently, almost reverently—made something in the room feel heavier than before.

“Where did you get it?” he asked, softer now, curiosity slipping through the cracks of authority.

Mara looked at the patch for a moment before answering. “From someone who asked me to keep it safe.”