*Three Days Earlier*
The door to the general's office creaked open as Captain Adrian, Logan's aide, stepped in with a file tucked tightly under his arm.
Logan Smith didn't look up. He sat behind his desk, motionless, brows furrowed, fingers tapping the armrest of his chair with the sharp rhythm of growing impatience. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a cold hue across the polished steel of his badges and the deep green of his uniform.
"Sir," Adrian began, voice taut. "There's something you need to see."
Without waiting for permission, he laid the file down.
Logan opened it.
Then the tapping stopped.
"Sixty," he read aloud, voice low, dangerous. "Sixty girls. Missing. No official records. No paper trail." He looked up slowly, eyes dark with fury. "How long have they been covering this up?"
Adrian hesitated. "Reports go back nearly 4 months… but no one wanted to escalate it until—"
A sharp slam. The file hit the floor as Logan shoved back his chair and stood, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and his glare burning."Six months of silence while children are trafficked under our watch?" he said, voice cutting like a blade. "And no one thought I should know?"
Adrian stepped back instinctively. "Sir, I—"
"Find me the names of everyone who touched this file and kept quiet. Every commanding officer, every clerk, every damn guard who signed a delivery log!"
"Yes, sir!"
As Adrian rushed out, Logan's eyes trailed to the window, clenched fists behind his back.
***
From the hallway, soldiers who caught a glimpse of the General that day would all say the same thing: the tension in the air was suffocating, and yet, you couldn't look away from him.
Logan Smith was a man who commanded attention effortlessly—not just by rank, but by presence.
His features were sharply cut, almost too perfect to belong to someone who'd seen as much blood and war as he had. Piercing grey eyes, like storm clouds ready to break. Raven-black hair, always neat. Even in his anger, there was control—an icy, intimidating calm that hinted at just how dangerous he could be when pushed.
He wasn't feared he was respected. Got it! Here's how we can continue that scene:
—
Logan's eyes darkened as he stood, pacing toward the large window that overlooked the training field. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his thigh, a steady beat of restrained frustration. The room was heavy with tension, the kind that made even seasoned officers hesitate before speaking. Captain Ad iel stood not far behind. Trying his very best to reduce his presence. He was scared, however momentz like this mad him unconsciously retreat.
"captain ," he said suddenly, his voice sharp.
"Yes, sir." The aide straightened instantly, ready.
"I want a full report on Lieutenant Davis—military records, deployment history, personal file, even off-duty conduct. Everything. And I want it on my desk before dawn tomorrow.
Riel didn't ask questions. "Understood, sir." he said and left the office.
Logan turned back to the desk, lifting one of the crumpled pages. His jaw clenched as he stared at the photos paper-clipped to the corner—young girls, barely into their teens, rescued from a smuggling ring just days before. He hated this ;the dirt beneath the system, the shadows that existed even under the name of service.
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Great. Here's a continuation of that scene, using *Liana* and building the emotion with care:
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Monica sat quietly in the living room, her laptop humming softly on the table as she scrolled through work files. A warm cup of tea sat forgotten by her side, its steam fading into the morning air. The silence was thick, peaceful almost — until the knock came.
She got up, peeked through the windows and saw her friend Liana. she opened the door, her eyes sparkling with light at a surprise visit.
"Come in". She called.
Liana stepped in, her face unreadable, lips slightly parted as though words had stopped mid-sentence. She looked at Monica's bright eyes and wished she didn't have to tell her.
"You… you haven't seen the news, have you?" she said, her tone not questioning but sure. Something in-between — cautious, trembling.
Monica looked up slowly, blinking. "What news?"
Liana didn't answer. Instead, she walked to the table, picked up the remote, and switched on the TV. Her hands moved quickly, changing the channel until she paused at *weba News*.
"Here."
"What's going on, Liana?" Monica frowned her senses tingling.
"Just… watch."
The headline read: *Massive Bomb Blast Rocks Victoria Mall — Dozens pronounced Dead*.
Monica leaned forward, eyes narrowing as images flickered across the screen — smoke, sirens, bodies being carried out. With names flashing on the screen.She swallowed hard, then froze.
A name.
*Davis Elmond.*.
"Dead"
she called out, her voice shaken with grief. She turned to Liana as if to confirm. But only saw sorrow on her good friends face.
She turned facing her front as tears began to stream down her face.
Monica had known she didn't love Davis, try as hard as she could. She'd never loved him. They had known each other for close to seen years. In those seven years she'd only been able to see him as a friend. But Davis had given her unconditional love.
How could she not grieve.
Suddenly her mind snapped. She snatched the remote from Liana and tuned back to the news channel.
Indeed she hadn't seen wrong, he was at the crime scene . The name that had given rise to lingering fear in her heart for two days.
Who could it be if it wasn't him?
To think he was even a General.The headline's gave out his name just as he had done in that letter. General Logan Smith.