Standing there, rigid as a board in his dress whites, was Commander Jack Sterling, my sister’s fiancé and the man everyone had been calling a hero all night. His face was pale, drained of all its arrogant color, and his eyes were locked forward in a terrified, unblinking stare that drilled straight through me.

Opposite him, I stood holding a plastic cup of lukewarm fruit punch, looking like I’d rather be anywhere else. I sighed, the sound loud in the vacuum of sound, took a slow sip, and quietly broke the suffocating silence.