Nathan stood up so fast his chair crashed backward onto the floor. The room gasped. “Nathan?” my aunt screeched. “Sit down! She’s nobody!” He looked at his mother with pure terror in his eyes. He pointed at me and said the sentence that made the entire family freeze. “Mom, shut up. You have no idea who is sitting at this table.” He turned to me, snapped a salute, and said “…Ma’am.”

The word drops like a stone in a lake. No one breathes. My uncle’s fork hovers mid-air. My cousin Jamie’s jaw hangs open, mashed potatoes forgotten on her plate. Aunt Brenda’s eyes dart from her son to me, confused, furious, and suddenly—scared.

I nod once, not returning the salute, but acknowledging it. “At ease, Nathan.”

He lowers his hand slowly, like it’s heavier than it should be. He’s sweating now. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Only one thought seems to rattle inside his head: What the hell is Oracle 9 doing at a Thanksgiving table in Maryland?

Brenda forces a laugh. “Okay, okay, this is getting ridiculous. Oracle-whatever? What is this, a video game? She’s playing spy dress-up, Nathan.”

But Nathan doesn’t laugh. He’s scanning the room now, eyes sharp, instinctual. “Did they assign you to me?” he asks. “Is this an op?”

“No, Nathan,” I say, quietly. “This is just turkey and guilt. I came for the cranberry sauce. Not to extract intelligence.”

“But—”

“I’m retired,” I lie.

He doesn’t believe me. Good. He shouldn’t. I’m not retired. I’m on hold. There’s a difference.

Across the table, Aunt Brenda sneers again, doubling down. “You all have lost your minds. She works for the government like millions of other people do. You really think this… this beige blouse and Ann Taylor skirt is James Bond?”

“You always were good at ignoring reality,” I say softly. “But I recommend you stop talking.”

Something in my tone makes even her shut up.

Nathan clears his throat and sits back down, his knees bouncing with nervous energy. “So… Oracle 9… that’s real?”

I nod. “It was.”

Aunt Brenda, undeterred, folds her arms. “Well, why don’t you enlighten us then? Since we’re playing secret agent.”

I glance at my cousin Jamie, who’s still staring at me like I’ve grown fangs. My uncle finally sets his fork down and pushes his plate away like it’s suddenly radioactive.

“I can’t tell you much,” I say, looking at Brenda. “But you want to know why there are no medals? Why there’s no ceremony for me? Because the work I did doesn’t exist. The people I saved don’t know they were in danger. The disasters I stopped were never on the news, because they never happened.”

Jamie whispers, “Like black ops?”

“No,” I say. “Darker.”

Aunt Brenda snorts. “This is insane.”

“You remember the Berlin metro scare in 2015?” I ask.

She blinks. “You mean when the whole city shut down for a power failure?”

“Right,” I say, sipping my wine again. “Power failure.”

Nathan leans forward. “That wasn’t a power failure, was it?”

I shake my head. “Biological weapon. Russian origin. Someone got careless.”

“Oh my god,” Jamie whispers.

Aunt Brenda laughs again, but this time it cracks in the middle. “You’re lying.”

“I’m alive,” I say, “because I don’t lie. I can’t. Not when I’m on assignment. Not even to myself.”

My uncle finally speaks. “So why come here now? Why say anything?”

I set my glass down. “Because sometimes, when you’ve spent two years alone in a bunker in a part of the world no one can pronounce, it’s nice to hear someone insult you over dry stuffing.”

That gets a chuckle from Nathan, though he’s still pale. “I thought I’d seen things,” he mutters. “I thought I was deep.”

“You’re brave, Nathan,” I say. “But there’s a difference between doing the job and directing the play.”

A beat passes. Brenda’s mouth is still open, like she’s trying to summon a comeback, but can’t find one that doesn’t sound idiotic.

“Who else knows?” Nathan asks.

“Three senators. Two presidents. And now, unfortunately, this table,” I say with a smirk.

“Why are you telling us this?” Uncle Carl asks, finally finding his voice again. “Aren’t you… aren’t you violating some national security law?”

“I didn’t give you any classified names, operations, or locations,” I say. “Technically, this is all anecdotal. The agency will deny it. But you needed to hear it.”

“Why?” Brenda snaps.

“Because I’m tired of letting you define me.”

She blinks, genuinely caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“All these years, you’ve treated me like a punchline,” I say. “Because you thought my life was small. Because you thought your son was the only hero in the family. You never once asked me what I do, only assumed you knew. And worse—you made everyone else believe it too.”

Silence.

“You think filing reports is weak?” I ask. “Try analyzing satellite feeds for six days straight, knowing if you miss a single movement, a school in Kenya explodes. Try listening to a field operative scream your name over comms while a drone strike counts down to zero. Try sending someone you love into a mission you wrote the strategy for—knowing they might not make it back.”

Brenda looks stunned. Speechless.

I stand. “So yeah, I don’t have medals. I have scars. I have secrets that eat through my bones. And I have a file buried so deep in Langley that the President himself needs a phone call to see it.”

Nathan stands, too. “I want to know more.”

I look at him. “You already know enough.”

His jaw tenses. “I think I’ve been fighting the wrong war.”

“You’ve been fighting the visible one,” I say. “We need both kinds.”

Aunt Brenda scoffs. “This is insane. All of this. You’re acting like some kind of killer.”

I glance at her, slowly. “I’m not a killer, Brenda. But I’ve ended things.”

She swallows hard.

“Mom,” Nathan says, voice quiet. “She’s the reason I’m alive.”

Her lips tremble. “What?”

Nathan turns to me. “That mission in Jakarta—two years ago. We lost contact with command, thought we were burned. You rerouted that evac, didn’t you?”

I don’t say anything.

“That was you.”

“I was one of a dozen people on that panel,” I lie.

He grins. “You saved my team. You changed the evac point to the old embassy, no one could’ve known that unless—”

“Stop talking,” I say, but I’m smiling now.

Nathan looks at me like he’s seeing his family for the first time.

Uncle Carl coughs awkwardly. “So, uh… should we pass the pie?”

I laugh—a full, real laugh. “Please. I didn’t come here to ruin dessert.”

Everyone exhales at once. A wave of relief moves over the room, as if my confession somehow lightened the air, not made it heavier.

As Jamie cuts the pumpkin pie, she peeks at me. “Is your real name even Collins?”

I wink. “You’re adorable.”

Brenda is still stiff, arms crossed, lips tight. But she doesn’t say another word.

Later, as the family mills about in the living room, Nathan comes to stand next to me on the porch.

“I’ve been chasing shadows for years,” he says. “Trying to be the best. The toughest. The most decorated. I thought that meant I understood what ‘service’ was.”

I don’t respond.

He looks out over the cold front yard, silent.

“But you… you serve with silence. With sacrifice. With nothing but ghosts.”

I nod. “That’s the job.”

He turns. “If you ever need someone you can trust…”

“I already have you, don’t I?”

He smiles. “Damn right, Ma’am.”

Then, with the chill of the night sinking in, we head back inside. Just two people who’ve seen too much, sharing one quiet truth between them:

Some heroes don’t wear medals. They wear masks no one sees—and carry burdens no one can ever understand.