He Called Her a Deserter, Then the General Said Her Callsign

General Marcus Holt did not raise his voice when he walked toward us. He did not need to. Stars change the air around them. Soldiers straightened. Medics moved faster. Thorn pulled his hand down from my face as if he had not been pointing at me seconds before.

Holt’s eyes went to Rook first.

That mattered.

Rook stood still, amber eyes fixed forward, his harness torn and coated in dust. The general’s jaw tightened once when he saw the broken clip at the side. Then he looked at me, and for the first time since the valley, someone saw the mission before the mess.

“Ghost Actual,” he said. “Report.”

A sound moved through the gate. Not quite a gasp. Not quite a whisper. Recognition without permission.

Thorn stared at him. “Sir, she failed to identify—”

Holt did not look at him. “Captain, you will be silent.”

Thorn closed his mouth.

I swallowed against the burn in my throat. “Three operators recovered alive. Carver needs surgery within six hours. Maddox is borderline shock but responsive. Hayes needs imaging. Rook has dehydration and paw damage. Enemy movement confirmed north ridge. Extraction point compromised before contact.”

Holt’s expression did not change, but Pruitt’s did.

“Compromised how?” Holt asked.

I looked past him, toward the command building inside the base.

“Someone transmitted the route.”

The silence changed shape.

Thorn’s eyes flicked left.

It was small.

Pruitt saw it.

So did Holt.

“Captain Thorn,” the general said, finally turning his head, “why was this operator listed presumed killed before ground confirmation?”