My sister ripped my shirt apart in front of two hundred guests and laughed at the scars across my back. For one stunned moment, even the champagne seemed to stand still.

crossing my shoulder blades—faded marks left by a burning ship corridor, a collapsing steel door, and a night no civilian in that ballroom could ever comprehend.

I made no attempt to cover them.

I did not cry.

Instead, I met my father’s eyes and asked, “Are you sure you want me to leave?”

His jaw tightened.

“You were never good at threats,” he said.

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