The image wouldn't disappear.
No matter how many times the screen flickered.
No matter how many alarms sounded aboard the ship.
No matter how many people spoke around her.
Allison still saw her mother's face.
Bound to a chair.
Terrified.
Helpless.
Susanna Croft.
The woman who never cried.
The woman who always had perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect control.
The woman who somehow made even silence feel elegant.
She looked terrified.
And Allison couldn't breathe.
The operations room aboard the federal vessel buzzed with activity around her.
People moved.
Phones rang.
Screens flashed.
Orders were shouted.
Yet everything felt distant.
Muted.
Like she was underwater.
Like she was trapped beneath glass watching the world continue without her.
The image replayed in her head again.
Her mother's eyes.
The fear.
The uncertainty.
The trembling in her hands.
And suddenly Allison wasn't twenty-two anymore.
She was eight.
Curled up in bed after a nightmare.
