"We might be standing on the wrong shore.”

The committee chamber was cold.

Too cold.

Étienne Moreau sat still in the chair placed precisely in the center of the room no desk before him, no glass of water offered.

Just isolation.

Twelve men sat across from him, silent and stiff.

But all had the same expression.

Serious and Sharp.

Colonel Valois sat at the center, fingers tented beneath his chin.

To his right, Lieutenant Colonel Drouet, twitchy and tight-jawed, leafed through a file with a pen tapping against it in sharp rhythm.

At the far left sat Major General Beauchamp, a man of few words so far, but whose presence carried the most weight yet sitting so far away and alone.

Moreau glanced at him twice and understood that he is the master of all this and for some reason he wants to test him.

This game is getting Intersting.

Valois broke silence after hearing his unconventional answer of being ready.

"Capitaine Moreau. You may relax."