But that morning, invisible wasn’t enough.
Crawford stopped in front of me, his eyes scanning my uniform with the intensity of someone looking for any excuse. I felt his gaze move from my boots to my cap, taking inventory of every detail.
Ezoic
Then he saw it. One button on my uniform shirt, barely loose, catching the morning light wrong.
“Private Torres.” His voice cut through the silence like a blade. “You think this is acceptable?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why is it on my parade ground?”
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