“Who the hell are you?” the tall one said, though the bravado in his voice had shriveled.

The stranger didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

He reached into his back pocket and flipped open a worn leather wallet—revealing an ID card with a dark blue trident emblem.

The recruits froze.

Because there were military IDs…

And then there was a Navy SEAL ID.

The kind nobody questioned.

The kind earned through blood, sweat, and years of being broken down and built back up again.

The man—Master Chief Nathan Hale—snapped the wallet shut.

“You’re done,” he said quietly, stepping forward. “All three of you. Move.”

The recruits backed up instinctively.

But Hale wasn’t finished.

He crouched next to Emily’s wheelchair, keeping his voice gentle.

“Ma’am,” he said. “You alright?”

Emily blinked in surprise. “I… yes. Thank you.”

Ranger nudged toward the man, picking up on his calm energy. Hale extended a hand for the dog to sniff, giving him time before petting his shoulder reassuringly.