In the classified command center, I enter with purpose. The screens illuminate a world of intelligence. Fingers dance across the keyboard, decoding threats. Conversations with colleagues are measured and cryptic. Suddenly I had a call, it was her, My Anchor (his girlfriend). I pressed the button an answered the call. Hello, it's August. How can I help? My voice softens and becomes warmer. Even so his face staying rigid as he was at work.