She sat like someone who belonged.
Her hands rested comfortably beside neatly stacked operational files. Not casual notes. Not idle reading. Logan recognized maps. Strategic layouts. Mission frameworks. The kind of documents that usually never left command rooms.
His brows furrowed.
Women on base—especially those dining alone—generally fell into predictable categories in his experience: junior officers, intelligence specialists, logistics personnel, or medical staff. All highly capable. All essential. But not usually dripping with that subtle yet unmistakable aura of field credibility.
This woman? She didn’t just wear the uniform…
She wore authority.
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