Chương 5
"Yes."
"Anyone else?"
He looked at the clinic window.
"I don't know."
That was not good enough.
"Find out."
Thomas blinked.
"You are giving me an order?"
"No."
I took a breath.
"I am protecting the life I have."
Something shifted in his face.
Maybe respect.
Maybe concern.
"That is exactly what you would have said five years ago."
I froze.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you were always good at protecting everyone except yourself."
The sentence landed too close.
I looked toward the door.
"I have work."
Thomas nodded.
I picked it up.
It felt heavier than paper should feel.
Before I walked away, he spoke again.
"Captain."
I stopped.
I hated that I stopped.
"If you open it, don't do it alone."
I turned.
"Why?"
His face became serious.
"Because the last time you tried to carry the truth by yourself, you disappeared."
I carried the folder home in the passenger seat.
I did not open it.
Not at first.
I put it on the kitchen counter and ignored it while I changed clothes.
I ignored it while I made dinner.
I ignored it while I washed a single plate and left the rest of the dishes untouched.
Eventually, I sat across from it.
The folder waited without judgment.
That was almost worse.
People had expectations.
Objects did not.
I opened it at midnight.
The first page was a report.
The second page was a photograph.
The third page was a list of names.
My eyes moved slowly.
Some names I knew.
Some I did not.
Then I saw mine.
Captain Claire Mason.
Status: deceased.
Cause: injuries sustained during secondary explosion.
I stared at the line.
Something inside me went quiet.
Not because it was surprising.
Because it was familiar.
Someone had written my death.
Someone had decided the world would continue without me.
I turned the page.
There was a handwritten note attached to the back.
The handwriting was not mine.
The words were short.
Find out what Claire knew before the fire.
My fingers went numb.
Because beneath that sentence was a date.
Two days before the explosion.
And beneath the date was a name.
Daniel Reeves.
I closed the folder.
For five years, I had believed the fire took everything from me.
But sitting there in my quiet apartment, with the old report in front of me, I realized something worse.
The fire had not ended my old life.
Someone had finished the job afterward.
</writing>
The next morning, I called in sick for the first time since I started working at the clinic.
Rachel answered after one ring.
"You sound terrible."
I almost smiled.
"I have a headache."
"You always have a headache."
I looked at the folder on my table.
"Today is different."
There was a pause.
Rachel had a habit of knowing when someone was hiding something.
She never forced people to confess, but she noticed.
"Do you need me to come over?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
She heard it.
"Claire."
I closed my eyes.
"I just need a day."
Another pause.
"Okay."
The simplicity of it almost broke me.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
She sighed softly.
"But if you disappear for a week, I am calling someone."
A small laugh escaped before I could stop it.
"You threaten people very strangely."
"I work with injured adults all day."
She sounded tired.
"I have learned that sometimes threats are the only language people understand."
After we hung up, I sat in silence for a while.
Then I opened my phone.
There were no missed calls.
No messages.
No warnings.
Nothing.
That should have made me feel safer.
Instead, it made me uneasy.
Because the most dangerous moments in my life had never announced themselves.
They arrived quietly.
A knock came at eleven.
I froze.
Nobody visited me.
That was one of the rules of my new life.
No unexpected guests.
No complicated relationships.
No doors opened without knowing who stood behind them.
I looked through the peephole.
Daniel stood outside.
Alone.
I almost did not open the door.
Then Atlas appeared in my mind.
The way he pressed against me.
The way he remembered something I had spent years trying to forget.
I unlocked the door.
Daniel looked older in daylight.
The diner lights had hidden some of the exhaustion in his face.
Now I could see it.
The tiredness around his eyes.
The way he leaned slightly on the cane when he thought nobody noticed.
"How did you find me?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"Thomas told me."
My jaw tightened.
"So he knew where I lived."
"No."
Daniel shook his head.
"He found the clinic address through public records."
I stared at him.
"That does not make me feel better."
"It shouldn't."
That answer surprised me.
Daniel looked down.
"I am not here to convince you that everything is fine."
"Good."
"I don't think it is."
The honesty made me step aside.
"Come in."
He entered slowly.
His eyes moved around the apartment.
Not judging.
Remembering.
I hated that.
People who knew my old life always looked at my new one like it was a temporary shelter.
Like they were waiting for me to return to the person they remembered.
Daniel sat at the small kitchen table.
The same place where I had opened the folder.
His eyes noticed it immediately.
"You read it."
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Enough."
He nodded.
That was not a good sign.
"What happened?"
Daniel looked at the folder.
Then at me.
"You should hear this from someone who was there."
"I was there."
His expression changed.
"Not all of it."
The room became quiet.
I waited.
Daniel rubbed his thumb against the handle of his cane.
A nervous habit.
I had forgotten he had those.
Everyone thought soldiers and officers became fearless.
They did not.
They just became better at hiding fear.
"The mission was supposed to be routine."
I almost laughed.
Nothing involving explosions was ever routine.
May you like
But I let him continue.
"We were transporting medical supplies and personnel."
