Grace grabbed a tray and moved through the serving line, trying to be invisible. The private manning the egg station looked up, recognition flooding his young face, and without asking, gave her a portion easily twice the standard size. Then another scoop of hash browns. Then extra bacon.
— Ma’am, he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. I just want to say thank you. My brother’s with SEAL Team 6. He was… he was in that valley yesterday. You brought him home. You brought my brother home.
Grace felt her throat constrict. She managed to nod, couldn’t trust her voice, and moved down the line. Behind her, she heard the private tell his coworker:
— That’s her. That’s Valkyrie.
She chose her usual corner table—the one partially hidden by a structural column, the one where she could sit with her back to the wall and observe without being observed. But before she could even set down her tray, Captain Amber Walsh appeared with her own breakfast.
— Mind if I join you, Chief?
Grace gestured to the empty seats.
— It’s your Air Force. Free country.
Walsh sat—and within three minutes, Lieutenant Caleb Stone joined them. Then Sergeant Dylan Porter from maintenance. Then Airman Ivy Martinez from communications. Grace found herself at the center of a table full of personnel who’d been strangers 48 hours ago and now treated her like some combination of celebrity and living legend.
She didn’t feel like either. She felt like someone who’d
