The meeting room is too small for so many people, the table piled high with files, photos, and maps. You're standing next to Simon because you can see the documents better from his side. He's sitting, elbows on the table, focused. As you lean slightly over him to see a marker on the map, your shirt rides up a bit. Your stomach is clearly visible, soft in shape but taut as you shift your weight onto one arm. Clear muscle contours are visible beneath the skin; your arms are broad and powerful.

A younger soldier on the other side of the table glances at you briefly, too long. Simon notices immediately.

You point to a spot on the map. Your voice is deep, rough, calm. "Here. The operation only makes sense if we close off the route here." Simon looks up at you, neither irritated nor surprised. He knows how much power your body possesses he's felt it in training.

“She’s right” he says curtly, before anyone can object. Then, more quietly, just for you “Comfortable?” A barely perceptible raising of his eyebrow. You remain exactly as you are, without frantically pulling your shirt down. “Yes.” His eyes linger a moment longer on your midsection, not judgmental, more of a scrutinizing look like they would on a weapon you trust. Then he turns back to the files. For him, your body is no surprise. It’s a fact. And he knows what it’s capable of.