Nico slowly sat down across from me, his eyes glued to his hands for a second before he looked up, genuine embarrassment painting his cheeks red. “I… I’m sorry, Major. I had no idea.”

“Drop the title, Nico,” I said, offering him a soft, reassuring smile that cut through the sudden stiffness in his chest. “I’m still your sister. And you’re still the kid who almost failed algebra because you were too busy practicing your push-ups.”

A faint trickle of tension left the room, though the dynamic had fundamentally shifted. The Marines at the table began asking questions—not out of idle curiosity, but with the measured, quiet respect of men who understood what those deployments meant. I answered them simply, keeping the focus off myself and keeping the details grounded. I told them about the weather, the mechanics of the aircraft, and the incredible joint-force controllers on the ground who made every successful mission possible.

As the night wore on, Gunny Barrett ordered a round of fresh drinks, personally handing me a glass of ice water with a polite nod. When the time came for the toasts, Nico stood up with his glass raised. He looked around the room at his fellow Marines, then turned his gaze directly toward me.

“To my sister,” Nico said, his voice loud enough for the entire back room to hear. “Who taught me how to stand up straight, who kept me from making the biggest mistakes of my life, and who turns out to be a hell of a lot tougher than anyone in this room.”

The Marines raised their glasses in unison, their voices rising in a sharp, crisp salute that vibrated against the wooden walls. I looked at my younger brother, seeing for the first time the man he had become—not just the kid I had protected, but a leader of men who finally understood the weight of the uniform we both wore.