Chapter 1: The Weight of the Dust

The ramp of the Chinook dropped, and the first thing I felt was the wind. It wasn't a breeze; it was a furnace blast carrying the grit of a thousand years of war. I adjusted the sixty-pound rucksack on my back, the nylon straps biting into my shoulders. I was the only woman on the bird, and as I stepped onto the gravel of COP Titan, I felt the immediate, heavy weight of twenty pairs of eyes.

I didn't look at them. I couldn't. I was too focused on the sweat trickling down my neck, praying my waterproof foundation would hold. If the camouflage makeup smeared, if they saw the snowy-white patches on my skin, I knew I’d never hear the end of it.

"Ramírez! With me!"

The voice belonged to Captain Charles James. He was standing near a stack of HESCO barriers, looking like he’d been carved out of the very mountains surrounding us. He didn't smile. He didn't welcome me. He just checked his watch as if my arrival was a scheduled annoyance.

"Follow me," he barked, turning on his heel.

I hurried to keep up, my boots crunching on the harsh limestone. As we passed a group of men lounging by a Humvee, a low whistle echoed through the heat.

"Look at that, boys," a voice sneered. I recognized the name tape: Thorne. "They sent us the 'Spotted Witch.' Hope she brought enough hexes for the Taliban, 'cause she's gonna need 'em to stay in this unit."

I kept my gaze fixed on the back of the Captain’s head. He didn't slow down. He didn't acknowledge the comment. He led me to a long, plywood shack that smelled of stale sweat and gun oil.

"This is the bay," James said, stepping inside. The room was lined with cots. There were no walls, no curtains, no privacy. "You’re in 3rd Platoon. You sleep here. You gear up here. If you wanted a room with a view, you should’ve stayed in the States. Understood?"

"Understood, Sir," I said, my voice echoing in the sudden silence of the room as the men inside stopped talking to stare at me.

James looked at me then—really looked at me. His blue eyes were like flint, scanning my face. For a second, I thought he saw the line of my makeup. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"0400 patrol," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Don't make me regret keeping you on my roster, Specialist."