Soon, a stir rippled through the side entrance of the Norse Mansion.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned.
A line of men stepped in—some broad-shouldered and silver at the temples, others older but still carrying themselves with soldier-straight backs. They walked two by two, instinctively synchronized, like formation had never left their bones.
At their head was General Leonard Norse.
Even out of uniform, authority clung to him like a second skin.
Then—
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Party poppers burst overhead, raining down metallic confetti. Music blared from hidden speakers, bright and off-key and unapologetically cheerful.
"Happy birthday to you—!"
Summer and Layla led the song, their voices loud enough to make the old soldiers wince and laugh.
"Happy Birthday, General!" the crowd boomed in unison.
Leonard stopped mid-step.
For a heartbeat, the hardened general disappeared, replaced by something softer—almost boyish.
He smiled.
