“Don’t drop it, sweetheart.”

Todd smirked as he shoved the massive Barrett into my chest.

The buttstock struck my ribs hard enough to make the men around him laugh.

“It weighs more than your purse.”

Their laughter rolled across the Nevada range like dust in the wind.

Rough.

Ugly.

Confident.

To them, I was already the joke.

A civilian woman from Washington.

Jeans.

Plain shirt.

Clipboard in the truck.

Clearance badge on my chest.

No rank on my sleeve.

No reason, in their minds, to be standing beside a weapon built for war.

Todd tilted his head toward the target shimmering nearly a thousand yards away.

“Go on,” one of the men called. “Point it downrange and try not to cry when it kicks.”

More laughter.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t defend myself.

I just looked at the rifle.

Then I took it.

The weight settled into my hands like memory.

Cold steel.

Heavy balance.

Familiar pressure against my palms.

For one breath, the desert vanished.

Another range.

Another sun.

Another voice beside me.

Trust the wind.

Don’t fight the rifle.

Let it tell you what it wants.

My brother’s voice disappeared as quickly as it came.

I lowered myself into the dirt.

The laughter faded behind me.

The world narrowed.

Heat shimmered over the sand.

The distant plate blinked in the scope.

The wind touched the left side of my face.

I breathed once.

Slowly.

Then—

Crack.

The shot split the valley open.

For two seconds, there was only echo.

Then, far away—

Clang.

Dead center.

The laughter died instantly.

No one moved.

Todd’s smirk fell apart.

The man leaning on the Humvee straightened without realizing it.

I rose slowly and brushed dust from my jeans.

Then I handed the rifle back to Todd.

“Your scope is zeroed two clicks left,” I said quietly.

His fingers tightened around the Barrett.

No one spoke.

That was when the observation tent flap opened.

The base Commander stepped into the sun.

His face had gone pale.

He looked at Todd.

Then at the men.

Then at me.

May you like

“You absolute idiots,” he said.

His voice shook.

He pulled a red classified folder from his jacket and slammed it onto the Humvee hood.

“She’s not an auditor.”

The silence became complete.

Todd stared at the folder.

Then back at the Commander.

“Sir… what?”

The Commander’s eyes were cold.

“She is not an auditor.”

Todd swallowed.

“Then why is she here?”

The Commander opened the folder just enough for Todd to see one page.

Todd’s face changed.

The arrogance drained out of him.