Chapter 3
He set his tray on my table without asking and sat across from me like the chair had surrendered.
"I'm Staff Sergeant Rodriguez," he said. "Navy SEAL. Team Six attached."
"Congratulations."
His smile twitched. The exchange continued through several more rounds — his questions, my flat refusals, the room's quiet attention sharpening with every line. I told him my access had been approved by someone who outranked his curiosity. I told him I was reading about boundaries. I told him a uniform wasn't a personality.
His face hardened.
"You have any idea who you're talking to?"
I took out a folded napkin and wiped coffee from the edge of my cup.
"Marcus Allen Rodriguez. Staff Sergeant. Attached to a joint special operations training rotation. Service record includes commendations, combat deployments, and an impressive ability to make formal complaints disappear before they reach a commander's desk."
His face went pale in one clean second.
"Excuse me?"
"Three informal harassment complaints. Two written statements from junior enlisted personnel. One contractor irregularity flagged by finance. One deleted security request restored from server backup. That's just the breakfast version."
May you like
"How the hell do you know that?"
"Because I read."
