Chapter 10 - THE FINAL SALUTEGlenn wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, taking a deep, shaky breath.
"What happens now?" he asked quietly. "Do you... do you want me to leave? Go back home?"
I stood up from my desk, walking slowly around to the front of the mahogany wood until I stood just two feet away from my brother. I reached out, my fingers catching the lapel of his jacket, straightening it the same way I used to fix his collar when we were kids walking to the school bus.
"You're staying for dinner at the officers' club," I told him, a faint, wry smile touching the corners of my mouth. "You're going to sit at the table with my battalion commanders. You're going to listen to them talk about logistics, strategy, and combat readiness. And you're going to learn what it actually means to serve."
Glenn let out a wet, half-laugh, nodding rapidly. "Okay. I'll stay. I'll listen."
"Good," I said, stepping back and snapping a crisp, casual two-finger salute toward his forehead. "Dismissed, little brother."
Some people spend their entire lives building their identities on sand, assuming that mockery equals power and that belittling others makes them stand taller. They build kingdoms of ego, ignoring the quiet, relentless work of those who actually carry the weight of the world.
But true authority doesn't need to shout. It doesn't need validation from cynics or approval from skeptics.
When the doors of the holding cell swung open, the illusion finally shattered, leaving behind a simple, unalterable truth:
May you like
You can try to lock the general away all you want. But when the dust settles, the command belongs to the one who earned it.
I picked up my cap, squared my shoulders, and walked out into the corridor—ready for whatever command came next.
