The first button hit the floor hard enough to bounce beneath Sarah Jenkins’s bunk.

The second rolled in a slow circle before falling flat.

The third disappeared somewhere behind Caleb Miller’s boot.

Elena Vance heard all three.

She also heard the laughter.

Miller still had a fistful of her uniform jacket twisted in one hand when the reinforced stitching finally gave way. The fabric tore from the collar toward her shoulder with a violent ripping sound that silenced half the barracks.

For one second, even Miller looked surprised by what he had done.

Then his smile returned.

“Wow,” he said. “Government quality.”

Simmons laughed first.

Graves followed.

The twins, Sean and Derek, moved closer as though humiliation had become a group activity.

Elena stood perfectly still.

Her olive-drab undershirt showed through the torn jacket. Pale skin near her collarbone had been exposed when the fabric ripped downward, and she immediately pulled the damaged sides together with one hand.

Beside her, Sarah “Jinx” Jenkins looked horrified.

“Miller,” Jinx whispered, “what is wrong with you?”

He ignored her.

Instead, he looked at Elena.

“Pick up the buttons.”

Elena’s jaw tightened.

Six weeks.

That was how long she had survived Fort Thorne without giving Caleb Miller the reaction he wanted.

Six weeks of four-hour nights, bruised feet, screaming instructors, timed runs, rifle qualification, obstacle courses, inspections, and constant pressure.

Six weeks of proving that Recruit Elena Vance belonged there because of what she could do.

Not because of who she knew.

And certainly not because of the man whose wedding ring hung from a chain beneath her undershirt.

Miller stepped closer.

“I said pick them up.”

“No.”

His smile disappeared.

“What?”

“I won’t.”

Elena’s voice shook, but not because she was afraid.

Every muscle in her body wanted permission to answer him physically.

She refused to give herself that permission.

“You tore it,” she said. “You can explain it.”

Simmons made a low sound of disbelief.

Graves muttered, “She’s got a death wish.”

Miller leaned toward her until his shoulder touched hers.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. Colonel Sterling walks in, sees you looking like this, and asks what happened.”

He pointed at the torn jacket.

“I tell him you lost control.”

Elena stared at him.

“You think anyone will believe that?”

Miller smiled again.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Simmons?”

“She lost control,” Simmons said immediately.

“Graves?”

“Completely unstable.”

The twins nodded.

Miller turned back toward Elena.

“Five people against one.”

Jinx stepped forward.

“Six against five.”

Everyone looked at her.

Her face went pale almost immediately after the words escaped.

Jinx hated confrontation. Miller knew it.

He walked toward her.

“You sure about that?”

Elena moved between them.

“Leave her out of this.”

“There she is,” Miller said. “Finally.”

He leaned in.

“The real Vance.”

His hand lifted.

Elena did not know whether he intended to shove her or grab the uniform again.

He never got the chance.

The barracks doors slammed open.

“ATTEN-HUT!”

The Duty Sergeant’s command hit the room like artillery.

Miller jumped backward.

His four friends scattered toward their assigned positions.

Jinx snapped upright beside her bunk.

Elena had nowhere to go.

No time to change.

No way to hide what had happened.

So she stood at attention with one hand holding the torn front of her jacket closed.

Colonel James Sterling entered first.

He had spent more than thirty years in uniform, and he carried that history in his face. Silver hair cut close. Deep lines around his mouth. The permanent expression of a man who had heard every excuse soldiers could invent and had stopped enjoying them decades earlier.