“They invited ‘Class Loser’ to the 10th anniversary of the high school graduation to make fun of it —

But something else bothered her—something beyond the cruelty of the four men.

As she scanned the room, she noticed the guests’ strange behavior. Nervous glances. Phones quickly tucked into pockets.

Several people who shouldn’t even know her name seemed almost frightened by her presence.

Then she saw it: a small emblem on the lapel of the man standing at the exit.

A symbol she recognized from military briefings—a consulting group under investigation for predatory behavior against soldiers. What was he doing here?

Elara’s instincts sharpened. This reunion wasn’t just an act of petty malice. Someone else had come tonight with an agenda of their own.

Captain Rourke followed her gaze. “You see him too?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “And he didn’t come here out of nostalgia.”

The man slipped out the side door.

Elara made a decision. “Dorian, keep an eye on the hall. I’m following him.”

She stepped out into the cold air. The lawn, still marked by the Apache’s landing tracks, stretched into darkness.

The man was already halfway across the garden, heading towards the service road.

Elara’s pulse stabilized—a familiar, combat-like calm. The girl who had once been mocked would have stayed inside.

But Lieutenant Commander Elara Whitmore wasn’t that girl. She faded into the background.

But why did someone connected to a shady defense consulting firm show up at her convention… and what was he trying to hide?

PART 3

Elara moved around the estate with practiced precision.

The night air carried the subtle scent of Apache fuel, mingled with the earthy aroma of the Cascadia garden.

In front of her, a man—middle-aged, erect, wearing a suit too formal for a convention—walked briskly, glancing over his shoulder every now and then.

He hadn’t expected to be followed. A mistake. As she closed the distance, she called out, “Leaving so soon?”

He stopped, stiffening like a soldier bracing for impact. He slowly turned around.

“Lieutenant Commander Whitmore,” he said, as if he already knew her rank. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble.”

“So why are you here?” she asked.

He smiled politely, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Networking.”

“Nobody comes to a high school reunion to recruit military personnel,” Elara retorted.

“Especially from an organization that the Department of Defense is monitoring.”

His expression changed—a flash of recognition that she was not the naive girl he had expected.

“Elara,” he said, dropping the formalities, “you are a hero. And heroes attract attention.”

“That’s not an answer.”