Chapter 2 - Crashing the Party
I adjusted the strap of my field pack, checked the tactical knife folded securely inside my pocket, and unlatched the French doors.
The heavy glass swung open with a quiet creak.
I didn't sneak in. I didn't hide in the shadows. I stepped straight out from behind the velvet curtains and walked out onto the polished marble floor of the ballroom.
My heavy combat boots clacked loudly against the stone, completely out of sync with the soft string quartet playing in the corner. Dirt and dried mud flaked off my trousers onto the pristine white carpet.
The guests closest to the terrace turned to look, their conversations freezing mid-sentence.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" a young waiter approached me cautiously, holding a tray of appetizers. "The service entrance is in the back—"
I didn't even look at him. I kept walking toward the stage, my eyes locked onto my father.
As I crossed beneath the bright crystal chandeliers, more heads turned. The contrast was absurd: three hundred people wrapped in diamonds, silk, and velvet, staring at a woman covered in road dust, wearing a scuffed military jacket, her face marked by a fresh scar and eyes hollowed by months of survival.
"Who is that?" a woman whispered loudly. "Is this a performance?"
"Look at her face... is that real?" another murmured.
My boots kept clicking. Clack. Clack. Clack.
On stage, David was still shaking hands with the representative from Vance Defense, holding one end of the giant three-million-dollar check. Eleanor was posing for a society photographer near the podium.
Julian was the first one to see me.
He was holding a glass of scotch, laughing at a joke a senator had just made. His eyes wandered over the crowd, hit me, and passed by. Then, his brain registered what he had seen.
He froze. His head snapped back toward me.
The glass of scotch slipped from Julian’s fingers.
CRASH.
The crystal shattered violently against the wooden stage floor, spraying amber liquid and shards across the shoes of the Vance Defense executive.
"Julian! What on earth is wrong with you?" Eleanor snapped quietly, annoyed by the sudden mess. "Watch your manners—"
"Mom..." Julian’s voice came out as a strangled, pathetic gasp. He pointed a trembling finger down the center aisle. "Mom... look."
Eleanor frowned, following her son's finger. David turned his head as well, his politician's smile still fixed on his face.
The smile died instantly.
The color drained from David's face so fast he looked like a corpse. His jaw went slack, the giant cardboard check dipping in his hands. Beside him, Eleanor clutched her chest, her eyes widening in absolute, primal terror.
"M... Maren?" Eleanor squeaked, her voice barely carrying over the microphone.
The whole room fell into a suffocating, dead silence. The string quartet stopped playing mid-note.
I stopped at the base of the stage, right below the massive banner bearing my name and portrait. I slowly reached up, unzipped my dusty jacket, and threw it onto the stage steps.
May you like
I looked up at my family, my eyes colder than ice.
"Sorry to ruin the celebration," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a serrated blade. "But Captain Maren Vale isn't dead."
