Chapter 3 - THE SPLIT TRIANGLE
As Collins opened his mouth to deliver another taunt, Monroe made a slow, deliberate movement with her left hand.
She did not reach for a weapon. She simply reached down with her right fingers, caught the heavy olive sleeve of her coveralls, and smoothly pulled back the fabric of her left cuff.
Exposed on the pale skin on the inside of her left wrist was a mark. It was not a tattoo made with ink, nor was it a medical scar. It was an old, black brand burned deep into the tissue—a precise geometric triangle split clean down the center by a stark vertical line. The scar tissue was dark, aged, and permanent.
The moment the sleeve rolled up, the laughter in the room died instantly.
Captain Martinez’s eyes caught the black mark under the harsh fluorescent lights. The officer froze as if struck by lightning, his hand locking up on the digital map controls, his jaw dropping in absolute shock.
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Collins was still half-turned toward his squad, his mouth open to finish his joke, but the silence that suddenly swallowed the briefing room made him stop. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dropping to Monroe’s wrist.
The smile on Collins’ face evaporated completely. The color began to drain from his cheeks as his brain struggled to comprehend what he was looking at.
