The thrum of the chopper blades was a familiar lullaby, a constant companion to Micaela Elrod's life. At twenty-six, Lieutenant Elrod was a blur of efficiency and quiet competence, her blonde hair often escaping the confines of her uniform, eyes the unsettling blue of a deep ocean.

Today, the destination was a new one: a team she hadn't chosen, led by a Sergeant Duhamel whose reputation for being difficult preceded him. She'd heard the murmurs, the complaints, the sighs of colleagues who had crossed his path. Good. Difficulty was a distraction she welcomed, a challenge to focus her razor-sharp mind.

The chopper touched down with a gentle thud, kicking up dust. Micaela stepped out, adjusted her grip on her bag, and surveyed the small group of figures waiting. She knew they were expecting a man. The amusement that flickered in her eyes was fleeting, quickly masked by her usual impassive expression. Let them be surprised. She always was, too, by the world's endless capacity for underestimation.