Chapter 3 - Owen Steps Back
I tightened my grip on the ledge and forced my breathing into order. Pain is loud when you let it speak first. I had learned to make it wait.
“Your father didn’t die in combat,” I said.
Marcus’s expression cracked. Not fully. Just enough for the boy beneath the cadet commander to look out through the man he had become. “What did you say?”
Owen stepped back.
That small movement told me more than a confession would have. Grant and Tyler were still acting on adrenaline, half pulling me up and half threatening to let go, their aggression already turning uncertain. Owen was different. Owen was afraid of the evidence, not the height. His eyes kept dropping to the inside pocket of my dust-streaked jacket, where the sealed patch rested beneath a layer of sweat and fabric.
“Marcus,” Owen whispered, “leave it alone.”
Marcus turned his head. “What?”
Owen swallowed. “We need to go.”
There it was. Not concern. Containment.
I shifted my weight, ignoring the fire in my shoulder, and worked two fingers toward the inside of my jacket. Grant felt the movement and tightened his grip around my wrist. Tyler cursed under his breath. The metal edge bit into my palms.
Owen lunged forward.
“Don’t let her show it!”
The roof went silent except for the wind.
Marcus stared at Owen as if the shape of his life had suddenly become unfamiliar. “Show what?”
May you like
I pulled the blurred sealed patch halfway free. The markings were unreadable from the yard below, but Owen recognized it. His face drained so completely that even Marcus saw it.
“He didn’t die in combat,” I said again, each word deliberate. “He was sold out.”
