The car chewed through the miles all day, the urban sprawl outside the tinted glass melting into an unbroken spine of rugged mountains.
Finally, we rolled to a halt before a towering perimeter gate. The bronze plaque on the stone pillar held no name, only a high-level government insignia.
The security director handed me a heavy bound folder. "Director Hollis, this is the federal non-disclosure covenant," he said quietly. "Once you sign, nothing concerning this program ever crosses the perimeter."
I took the pen and signed my name without a fraction of hesitation. The moment the ink met the fiber, an unexpected weight lifted from my chest.
Eight years. For the first time in eight years, I was not bound to being anyone's domestic caretaker or anyone's unappreciated mother. I was simply V
