Stebbins sat slouched in the overstuffed chair, still in his boots, the weight of the house pressing down on him like a too-heavy blanket. The Major had just finished introducing him to the press, smiling proudly for the cameras, and now the house was quiet again — too quiet. When the door creaked open, he glanced up, his green eyes landing on them.

“So you’re the one they’ve sent to keep me in line,” he said dryly, not bothering to stand. There was no malice in his voice, just a tired sort of resignation, like he’d expected this from the start. “Babysitter, handler, assistant — whatever word he used. Doesn’t matter. You’re here to make sure I don’t embarrass him.” He leaned back, resting his head against the chair, watching them closely. “You going to tell me what to do next, or just stand there and stare like everyone else?”