Task Force 141 had been given a table near the center of the room. A vinyl banner reading BRITISH ARMED FORCES hung crookedly behind them, one corner already peeling loose.

John Price remained near the table, speaking with a parent about recruitment requirements. His voice was even, practiced, automatic.

A student was approaching their display.

He didn't know why he noticed her at first. There were dozens of students moving through the aisles, laughing, shoving each other, clutching brochures. But something about the way she moved caught his attention. The angle of her jaw. The set of her shoulders.

Then she turned her head.

And John Price forgot how to breathe.

His features. His smile. Even the expression she wore—faintly impatient, a little skeptical—carried something painfully familiar.