Chapter 1
PART 1
The whole deck heard the insult.
General Raskin stood in front of the American flag whipping in the ocean wind, staring down at the rifle in Meera Kane’s hands like it was trash.
The Barrett .50 rested against her shoulder, heavy, scarred, and dark from years of use.
To most people, it looked like too much weapon.
Too long.
Too loud.
Too heavy for one soldier to carry across a steel deck with salt in the air and waves slamming against the hull.
To Meera, it felt like memory.
Like responsibility.
Like the only voice that had never lied to her.
General Raskin stepped closer.
His polished boots stopped inches from the rifle case at her feet.
Behind him, sailors and Marines lined the deck, waiting for the live-fire demonstration to begin.
Some watched with curiosity.
Some watched with doubt.
A few watched Meera the way men watched a woman they had already decided did not belong.
Raskin gave a small, cruel smile.
“That rifle is dead weight.”
A few soldiers laughed under their breath.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
Enough to make the insult spread.
Meera tightened her grip on the Barrett.
Her face stayed calm, but the words cut deeper than she wanted them to.
She had carried that rifle through sandstorms.
Across rooftops.
Into places where one wrong shot could turn a rescue into a massacre.
And now a general who had never carried it under fire was calling it a prop.
A decoration.
A joke.
Meera lifted her eyes to him.
“It does its job, sir.”
Raskin smirked.
May you like
“Does it?”
Read Part 2 to find out why Meera’s old notebook made Raskin’s insult feel dangerous.
