smiled.
Not wide. Not dramatic. Just enough to feel it.
If they had done their homework, they would have known one thing.
You don’t isolate someone whose entire job is control.
2:36.
I tapped the side of the watch once more, not to activate anything new, just to confirm status.
Still running. Still clean.
Good.
I rested my hands loosely together and let the timer continue.
No pacing. No wasted movement.
1:58.
Almost there.
Upstairs, they were still in control.
That part was about to change.
1:12.
The room felt smaller now, not because of fear, but because the outcome was already decided.
They just didn’t know it yet.
0:45.
I sat up a little straighter.
0:30.
The faintest hum passed through the watch.
Final phase.
0:10.
I looked down at the screen.
0:05.
Then I looked back up at the door.
0:03. 0:02. 0:01. 0:00.
The timer disappeared.
I let out a quiet breath and leaned back into the chair, completely at ease.
“Time’s up,” I said softly, just loud enough for the room to carry it.
Then I smiled.
Because five minutes was all I needed.
Tell me this.
Have you ever been the one person in the room everyone underestimated right before everything flipped?
I leaned back in the chair and let the memory snap into place.
Two hours earlier, I was standing in a ballroom that smelled like polished wood, expensive whiskey, and ego.
My father loved rooms like that.
Crystal chandeliers. Dress uniforms. Medals catching the light from every angle. Conversations that sounded important but never said anything real.
I stood near the edge of the room with a glass of water I hadn’t touched.
No one noticed.
That part wasn’t new.
Across the room, my father, General Vance, raised his glass high, pulling attention without even trying.
“That’s my daughter,” he said, loud enough to carry across the entire floor. “Major Jocelyn Vance, the pride of the Pentagon.”
Applause followed.
Of course it did.
Jocelyn stood beside him in full uniform posture, perfect smile, controlled. She knew exactly how to hold a room. She always had.
“Logistics command isn’t glamorous,” my father continued, pacing slowly like he was delivering a speech he’d practiced, “but it’s the backbone of everything we do. And Jocelyn, she makes it look easy.”
