My father mocked my burn scars—until a Navy SEAL stood up, stared at them, and whispered, I’ve seen those before.

The truth was, I wasn’t shuffling papers.

I was in Tunis, Tunisia, and I was the agent in charge for the Diplomatic Security Service.

My job was to protect the U.S. ambassador, a responsibility that was anything but boring.

I remember one particularly tense pre-mission brief. My team gathered around a satellite map in a secure room, the air humming with the low thrum of servers and suppressed anxiety.

We weren’t discussing paper clips and filing cabinets.

We were discussing threat vectors, vehicle hardening, and the emergency action plan for a worst-case scenario.

My world was one of calculated risks and constant vigilance.

And then the worst-case scenario happened.

A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the embassy. The shockwave shattered windows, sending smoke and debris into the air.

A VBIED had breached the outer wall.

In the chaos, there was no time for fear.

My training took over.

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