Page 35 of Beyond Redemption

His grip was firm, unyielding, asserting control the second his hand closed around mine.

“General,” I said. “Thank you for receiving us.”

Liis received the same handshake, the same respect.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the chairs. “Sit.”

Along the wall, a console table held covered trays and warming dishes. Two teenagers stood beside it, both in uniforms that echoed military discipline without the weight of authority. Not soldiers… not yet.

The boy looked about fifteen, slender, dark hair high and tight. His name tag read K. Tanaka. The girl was older—sixteen, maybe—with chestnut hair pulled back into a tight French braid. Her name tag, A. Köhler.

They moved in sync, practiced and quiet.

“Coffee?” Ava asked, already lifting the carafe.

“Black,” I said.

“Cream, no sugar,” Liis added.

They prepared it quickly, setting the mugs down before moving to the food.

Breakfast was simple but elevated. Scrambled eggs flecked with herbs. Thick-cut, pepper-crusted bacon. Roasted potatoes with peppers and onions. Fresh fruit sliced clean and bright against the muted room. Toast stacked neatly, butter already softened.

General Marcel bowed his head. The movement was small but it rippled outward. The soldiers along the walls followed. Even the teenagers who had served us lowered their heads, hands stilling where they stood.

I hadn’t expected a prayer inside a command hall, surrounded by armed soldiers and active-duty rotations, but sitting there among them in that quiet act of faith, the assumption fell apart. It matched the discipline, the restraint, the quiet control that defined the entire compound.

Liis went still beside me. I caught the briefest flicker of her eyes before we both followed suit, heads dipping in quiet respect.

“Our Heavenly Father, thank You for this provision,” Marcel said, voice low and steady. “For the hands who prepared it and the ones gathered here. Keep us sharp, keep us steady, and bring us through what’s ahead. Amen.”

A quiet chorus of amens moved through the room. I lifted my head, a sense of clarity and peace settling in my chest I hadn’t anticipated.

Marcel waited until we’d been served before speaking again.

“Welcome to the compound,” he said. “I’m glad I can finally thank you in person for ensuring Naomi and Zeke arrived home safely.”

“My brothers worked with Naomi on a few occasions. She saved their lives once,” I said. “I was happy to help.”

“In that case, it appears we were already even and our hospitality isn’t necessary,” Marcel said, straight-faced. After a few awkward moments, he chuckled.

Liis’s smile was unmistakenly tinged with relief, and I laughed along with him. “All the more reason to be grateful to you,” I said, relieved not to be immediately booted.

We ate as we talked, the conversation folding neatly into the mechanics of breakfast. That alone told me what I needed to know about General Marcel. He didn’t pause for ceremony or let conversation interfere with function. The fork kept moving, the questions came, and breakfast progressed whether we spoke or not.

Marcel folded his napkin once, precise, and rested it beside his plate. “I don’t need the story,” he said calmly. “I need to know who might come knocking on my gate looking for you.”

I chewed and swallowed. “The Bureau won’t,” I said. “At least not officially. They understand the necessity of us being here.”

“And unofficially?” Marcel prodded.

“As you know, the rest of the family is already en route,” Liis said. “There’s no avoiding it. The Carlisis monitor Falynclosely, and we assume that extends to the others. Once the Maddoxes start moving toward the compound to reunite with Olive, the Carlisis will connect the dots that there has been another convergence of Falyn and Olive at a single location. And if Governor Fairchild challenges them again—another press conference, another refusal, another push into their shell companies or the corridor they want for trafficking—they’ll read it as escalation and begin planning another targeted killing.”

Marcel nodded once, as if the information had slotted neatly into something already filed away. “Traffickers,” he said, tasting the word. “We hunt them all the same.” His gaze lifted. “The troops will be pleased. Brooks?”

Marcel’s CO immediately rounded the corner from the hall. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice confident and firm.

“Increase perimeter sweeps,” Marcel ordered.