I was a ghost in a machine built for glory. To them, I was just the maintenance woman. I was the stain on the scenery of their perfect military academy. I wore a faded gray uniform that smelled of industrial solvent and grease. My hair was pulled back, my face scrubbed clean of anything that might catch a wandering eye. I fixed the dripping faucets, unclogged the drains, and changed the lightbulbs. I had mastered the art of disappearing. It is not a superpower; it is a discipline I honed in the