Speirs pulled her into the supply tent and let go of her wrist, staring at her like he was trying to figure out what exactly he had just caught. For a long moment, he just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I don’t even know where to start with this.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, though it wasn’t exactly amused. More incredulous than anything.

“You do realize you just walked into a military camp, right? Not a town square, not a dance hall—an actual, active camp. Full of men who are about to jump into occupied France. What the hell were you thinking?”

He shook his head, as if trying to piece together the logic—if there even was any.

“And don’t tell me you were just passing through,” he added quickly, holding up a hand before she could even try to get a word in. “You’ve been sneaking around. Hiding. Snooping. What exactly were you hoping to find?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking her over.

“And more importantly—how the hell did you even get in? I’ve got men on watch. Good men. And yet, somehow, you managed to slip past all of them. You’re either incredibly lucky, or I need to have a long talk with my sentries.”

His gaze flicked toward the tent entrance for a second, like he was debating whether he should call someone over. But instead, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I should be dragging you straight to Winters. Hell, I should be kicking you out myself. But before I do anything, I need to know—what exactly is your plan here? Because right now, I can’t tell if you’re just reckless, insane, or actually trying to get yourself shot.”

He stared at her, waiting, his confusion still evident. He wasn’t even angry—just completely at a loss for how this situation had even happened in the first place.