“Martin!” Her face lit up at the sight of him. Not that I blamed her, but I felt possessive and unreasonably jealous. My lungs burned as she reached for him like she was going to hug him. I let go of his arm, moving a few feet away, defensively; if they started to hug in front of me, my eyes were going to melt off my face. Kael reached for the baggy sleeve of my sweatshirt to pull me close, dodging the hug she tried to give him. Her arms fell flat at her sides as he laced his fingers through mine. Her eyes instantly went blank, hiding any thoughts she might have been having; she was a soldier, after all. In most romances, this would be the chapter where I find out that Kael has a secret past with her or, worse, he pretends not to know me. He was confusing me by doing the opposite of what I’d expected. Why do I always assume the worst?

“What are you doing here, of all places?” Turner asked Kael, not looking at me. She was smiling again, focused on him.

Kael held up my laptop with the arm that wasn’t holding my hand. “Her laptop is fucked up, so we came to fix it.”

We. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Turner straightened her stance, and I was a bit terrified of how small I felt next to her. She was wearing makeup today and had her civilian clothes on, unlike when we ran into her at the commissary. Not that she didn’t look great in her uniform, but wow, her personal style was cool. She was wearing a black halter that tied across the back, with cutouts on the sides that exposed a lot of skin. Her jeans were loose everywhere except her hips and butt. She looked like she belonged on an Instagram account full of “look at me” vacation pictures or in an engagement photo shoot with a man like Kael. She was definitely on his level, unlike me with my sloppy clothes and blotchy skin. I inched a little closer to Kael.

“This is Karina, you’ve met her,” he introduced me.

I waved, offering a quiet hello.

She seemed to analyze every feature of my face and clothes. “Oh, Fischer’s sister! Now I see it,” she said, laughing. I hated that I didn’t get her joke.

“You know my brother?”

She nodded, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured and painted a light pink, skating the line of dress regulations. She bit the edge of her lip and wrapped the ends of her glossy hair around her finger, the perfect metaphor for my inward spiral.

“Of course I know Austin! Who doesn’t?” She said it in a way that felt like it meant something more. “And your dad. He—”