Screenshot.
Forward.
Document.
Breathe.
I changed phones through official guidance and moved all communication through Sarah. My command security officer reviewed potential risks. My personal accounts were frozen or reset. My access remained protected. Every door Ryan thought he had left open began closing from the inside.
The next morning, I walked into headquarters without a wig.
I had considered wearing one.
Not because I was ashamed, I told myself. Because it would be simpler. Because people would stare. Because command presence mattered. Because women in uniform are judged before they speak, and women without hair are given entire stories they never wrote.
I stood in front of the mirror for fifteen minutes with the wig in my hands.
Then I put it back in the box.
At 0800, I entered the main briefing room bald.
Conversation dipped for half a breath and resumed.
Major Priya Desai, my operations officer, met my eyes with a look so steady it nearly undid me.
