Claire sat in the med bay, hands trembling around a paper cup of water. The medic on duty had offered to stay, but she’d asked for privacy. She could still hear the sirens outside, the clipped radio chatter, the rising tension that rippled through every hallway.

When the door opened, she expected to see a nurse or maybe one of the MPs. Instead, General Roth stepped inside.

He removed his cap, set it gently on the counter, and pulled up a chair beside her. The motion was almost human, almost kind.

“Sergeant,” he said softly. “You’re safe now. But I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

She tried to speak, but her throat closed up. The words came out fractured, halting.

“It was last night, sir. Captain Mills called me into his office. Said he needed to go over medical reports. I thought it was routine.”

Roth didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“He started asking about my personal life. About my deployment file. I told him it wasn’t appropriate, and he—” Her voice broke. “He grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away. He hit me.”

Silence. Just the soft hum of the fluorescent lights.