“If My Daughter’s A General, Then I’m A Ballerina,” He Said—Until The Doors Opened

the case and changed in forty seconds flat. The dress came off. The uniform went on—combat black, no insignia visible to civilian eyes, but every seam reinforced with Kevlar threading. Boots laced. Sidearm holstered. Comms unit fitted to my ear, nearly invisible.

I looked in the mirror one last time.

The woman staring back wasn’t the one who’d sat at continue reading …