Chapter 467
[ 579 words ]
Chapter 467:
Her boots crunched on the gravel path, each step a small, definitive sound in the chaotic symphony of the camp. The hurt from the mess tent still sat heavy in her chest, a dull, aching weight that made her breath catch every time she replayed his cold fury, the ugly screech of the bench he had kicked, the way he’d walked out and left her. Caroline blinked hard and kept her eyes fixed on the large canvas tent ahead, the nerve center of the entire operation: the command tent. Evelyn’s words echoed in her mind, a strange and unsettling Rosetta Stone for Jarrod’s behavior. He wants your irrationality. He wants to see you get jealous. It felt like being told the sky was green. It went against every logical fiber of her being.
As she drew closer, the tent flap, tightly secured against the wind, muffled the sounds from within. But she could still hear it. A voice. His voice. It was low, controlled, but vibrating with a tightly leashed fury that she could feel even through the thick canvas. It made her steps falter. The resolve that had carried her from the medical center wavered, a flicker of cold dread snaking up her spine. He was still angry. The thought of walking into that storm, of deliberately becoming its focus, made her want to turn and run.
She stopped, her hand hovering just inches from the tent flap. She took a deep breath, the air tasting of dust and generator fumes. No. She wasn’t here to apologize for her trust. She was here to fix this. She was here to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. Straightening her shoulders, she pulled the heavy canvas aside and stepped in.
The atmosphere inside was glacial. K.C. Bell stood at rigid attention, his face pale, staring at a spot over Jarrod’s shoulder. Jarrod had his back to the entrance, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the tactical map pinned to the wall. His right arm was still locked across his chest in the heavy brace, a hard reminder that even his fury had physical limits.
“…and if you can’t even proofread a simple SITREP, Bell, then what use are you to me?” Jarrod’s voice was quiet, almost conversational, which made the venom in it a thousand times more potent.
𝖭ew 𝖼𝗵а𝗽𝘵𝘦𝗋𝘀 𝘦𝗏e𝗋𝘆 w𝗲𝖾𝗸 o𝘯 𝗀𝗮𝗹𝘯𝘰𝘃е𝘭𝘴.с𝘰𝗆
K.C.’s hands were clenched at his sides, but he did not defend himself. The mistake on the report was real; the punishment in Jarrod’s tone was not. Even Caroline could hear the difference. Jarrod was not only angry at K.C. He was angry at himself, and K.C. happened to be standing in range.
K.C.’s eyes flicked toward the entrance and saw Caroline. A wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over his face. It was as if she were a cavalry charge arriving in the nick of time.
“Sir, I’ll correct it immediately,” K.C. said, seizing the opportunity with the desperation of a drowning man. He practically dove sideways, scurrying past Caroline and out of the tent before Jarrod could utter another word.
Jarrod frowned, annoyed by his subordinate’s abrupt escape. He turned, his irritation still etched on his face, and then he saw her.
He froze. The anger in his eyes didn’t vanish. It swirled, complicated by something else, a flash of surprise, a hint of vulnerability, all immediately buried under another layer of ice. He said nothing. He just watched her, his silence a heavy, suffocating weight in the small space.
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