“General?”
Jackson looked between them.
Cross whispered, “Oh, God.”
Harper closed her eyes.
Aria's voice trembled.
“You knew my father before yesterday.”
Harper opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Thirty years.”
Thomas said softly, “Evelyn.”
Aria stepped backward as if struck.
General Evelyn Harper, the woman who had mentored her, recommended her for advanced courses, defended her promotion packet, and personally requested her participation in the joint exercise, stood completely motionless.
Aria whispered, “You were S-10.”
Harper said nothing.
That was the answer.
Jackson swore.
Cross stared at her.
“You sponsored Thomas?”
Harper nodded.
“When I was a major.”
“Why?”
“He was the best instructor I'd ever seen.”
Aria looked from Harper to Thomas.
The entire day rearranged itself in her mind.
The joint exercise.
Her selection.
Jackson's unexpected appearance.
Cross's presence.
Harper standing beside her before the demonstration.
“Did you know he was alive?”
Harper's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Aria nearly fell.
“How long?”
“Since the beginning.”
The pain was almost physically impossible.
“You?”
“I can explain.”
“You stood beside my mother at the memorial.”
“Yes.”
“You mentored me.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me spend my entire career trying to live up to a dead father who wasn't dead.”
Harper's voice cracked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised him I would protect you.”
Aria laughed through tears.
“There it is again.”
She looked around at all of them.
Her father.
Jackson.
Cross.
Harper.
Four powerful adults.
Four people who had spent decades making choices on her behalf.
Protecting her.
Watching her.
Testing her.
Lying to her.
Something inside Aria became very calm.
For the first time, she understood that the real fight had never been against Jackson.
It wasn't about strength.
It wasn't even about truth.
It was about control.
Everyone in front of her had decided that good intentions gave them permission to control someone else's life.
Aria bent down.
Picked up the torn photograph.
Then faced General Harper.
“Was yesterday's demonstration arranged to test me?”
Harper said, “No.”
Aria looked at Jackson.
He answered, “I volunteered on my own.”
“Did you know Harper was S-10?”
“No.”
“Did Cross know?”
Cross shook his head.
Aria turned to her father.
“Did you send me the note?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Yes.”
“The recorder?”
“Yes.”
“The Alaska photograph?”
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
Aria frowned.
“What?”
Thomas looked at Cross.
“I was never in Alaska.”
Cross stared.
“But we verified—”
“You verified a face.”
Thomas pointed toward himself.
“A sixty-two-year-old white man with a beard, photographed from thirty yards away.”
Jackson's eyes narrowed.
“The scar.”
Thomas lifted his right hand.
No scar crossed the thumb.
Aria's heartbeat accelerated.
“But I remember your scar.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You remember a scar.”
She stared.
He continued.
“Left hand.”
He lifted it.
A white line crossed the thumb.
Aria slowly looked at Cross.
The photograph had shown the right.
Cross's face emptied.
Harper whispered, “Who was in Alaska?”
Thomas answered.
“That's why I came.”
The implications hit Aria one after another.
Someone had fabricated evidence.
Someone knew enough about Thomas to imitate him.
Someone wanted Cross's investigation directed toward Aria.
Jackson whispered, “Sentinel isn't dead.”
Thomas looked at him.
“No.”
Cross shook his head.
“Impossible.”
“Is it?”
Thomas pointed toward the soldiers surrounding them.
“One thousand witnesses.”
Then toward Aria.
“An unexpected confrontation.”
Then Jackson.
“A decorated operator behaving irrationally.”
Then Harper.
“A former sponsor.”
Then Cross.
“An investigator chasing manufactured evidence.”