My Aunt Sneered: “No Medals? You’re Just A Desk Secretary.” I Sipped My Wine. “I Don’t Answer Phones.” She Laughed. “Oh? Then Who Are You?” I Said, “Oracle 9.” Her Son, A Navy Seal, Went Pale. “Mom… Stop Talking.

The warmth in them instantly evaporated, replaced by that familiar, pitying sneer. “And what about you, Collins?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux concern. “What are you doing for the holidays?

Another shift at the office?”

I tightened my grip on my fork. “I’m on call, Aunt Marjorie. The world doesn’t stop for football.”

She laughed, a short, sharp bark.

“On call? Oh, honey, please. What is it this time?

Checking to see who forgot to turn off the lights in the copy room? Or maybe making sure the generals have enough paper clips for Monday morning.”

She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially to the table. “Someone has to do the boring work so the real heroes can enjoy the game, right?”

I looked at Nathan.

He was staring at his plate, tracing the rim of his wineglass. He knew, deep down—he had to know—that this was wrong. But he said nothing.

He let his mother strip me down piece by piece just to build him up. The anger I had buried for twenty years stirred in my chest. It wasn’t the hot, explosive anger of a teenager anymore.

It was cold. It was calculating. It was the anger of Oracle 9.

“Actually,” I said, my voice steady, cutting through her laughter, “it’s a bit more complex than paper clips.”

Marjorie waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure it is to you, dear. I’m sure filing feels very important when it’s all you have.”

She didn’t see the predator in my eyes.

She only saw the prey she had been hunting since I was twelve. She didn’t know that the game was about to change. She didn’t know that the secretary sitting across from her had the authority to turn her world upside down with a single phone call.

But she was about to find out. And this time there would be no silence. “Collins, you look terribly pale, dear,” Marjorie said, squinting at me over the rim of her wineglass.

“Do you even see the sun, or are you trapped in that basement office all day?”

She reached out and patted my shoulder—my left shoulder. I didn’t flinch. I had been trained not to.

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