From across the lobby, a woman named Elena Cruz, who had been waiting to finalize a transfer, took a step closer. She hadn’t intended to involve herself in anything that morning—she had her own deadlines, her own responsibilities—but something about the coin, the way Harold had placed it, the way he had spoken, made it impossible to ignore. Elena had spent eight years in the Air Force before transitioning into civilian life, and while she didn’t know everything, she knew enough to recognize authenticity when it stood quietly in front of her.
“That’s not something you joke about,” she said, her voice calm but edged with certainty.
Darren glanced at her, mildly annoyed. “And you are?”
“Someone who knows that you’re making a mistake,” Elena replied.
Harold didn’t look at her, but there was a slight shift in his posture, as if acknowledging her presence without inviting help. He began gathering his papers slowly, methodically, the way a man does when he decides that staying any longer will cost him more than leaving.
