Chapter 45: The Porcelain Front

The flight back was the same as the flight in—long, loud, and filled with the smell of hydraulic fluid. But as we crossed the Atlantic, the atmosphere changed. The tension began to bleed away, replaced by a strange, quiet grief for the people we used to be.

We landed at Fort Campbell under a grey sky. As we marched across the tarmac toward the hangar where the families were waiting, I felt the weight of the river stone in my pocket.

I looked at the men around me. Thorne, Jax, Stitch, Viper. They were the ones who had seen the "Witch" and chose to see the woman. They were the ones who had risked everything to keep our porcelain front from shattering.

James was at the head of the formation. As we entered the hangar and the "Dismissed!" command was given, the world turned into a blur of hugs and tears. I stood alone for a moment, the only one with no family waiting.

Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was James. He had bypassed the officers' reception. He was standing there, his sea-bag at his feet, looking at me with a gaze that said everything the rules forbade.

"Where to, Specialist?" he asked.

I looked at the white patches on my hands, then at the man who had seen them and loved them. "Anywhere but a cellar, Charles."

He took my bag, and as we walked out of the hangar together, I realized the porcelain front wasn't a mask I wore to hide my flaws. It was the armor I had earned. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of the light.