“Left’s clear,” I answer automatically. My voice is calm. Steady.
We move in formation, slow and deliberate, the way we’ve done a thousand times before. My eyes track every rooftop, every doorway, every piece of rubble that might hide something waiting to kill us. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter cuts through the sky.
Then…the world explodes.
The blast throws me sideways. Sound disappears for a second, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I hit the ground, my shoulder slamming into rock.
My grip tightens on my rifle automatically.Move.
That’s the only thought that matters. I push up onto one knee, vision swimming through the haze. My lungs burn as I drag in air thick with smoke.
“Status!” someone shouts.
My head snaps toward the voice. A body lies a few feet away. Not moving.
“Shit.” I’m already moving toward him before the thought finishes forming. “Hold on,” I bark, dropping to my knees beside him.
My hands press against his chest. “Stay with me,” I say, my voice sharper now.
His eyes flicker open for a second. Glassier than they should be. “Don’t—” he tries to say.
Another explosion rattles the ground somewhere behind us. My jaw tightens.
“Not today,” I tell him, pressing harder against the wound. “You’re not dying today.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I already know the truth. His breathing grows shallow. The light in his eyes starts to fade.
“Medic!” someone shouts.
Too late. Life slips out of him right there in my hands. Another man gone. Another name added to the list I carry whether I want to or not.
The ringing in my ears grows louder. Then everything goes black.
???
I bolt upright in bed. My hands grip the sheets, knuckles white as my chest heaves. For a second, the room spins, the dream clinging to me like a second skin. Then the quiet reaches me—no explosions, no shouting. Just the faint hum of the ceiling fan above my head.
Wilder House.
I’m at Wilder House. My pulse still pounds hard in my ears, but I force my breathing to slow. Control it. Always control it. The clock on the nightstand reads1:04 a.m.
Early. The middle of the night, and I already know how this goes. I won’t be sleeping again until the memories let go of me. They always take their time.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. The wooden floor is cool under my feet, grounding me in the present. The nightmare lingers in fragments. The smell of smoke. Blood on my hands.
Some missions fade with time. Others stay buried under your skin like shrapnel. My last one belongs in the second category. I drag a hand down my face and cross the room toward the window.
The night is still dark beyond the glass, the street lit only by the single lamp near the front door.
Peaceful. Exactly why I came here. No loud noise. No chaos.
Then the guilt lands. My family still thinks I’m overseas, finishing out my contract. I didn’t correct them. Letting them believe that is easier than explaining why I needed to disappear for a while.
A few months here should be enough. Enough time to get my head straight, to let the ghosts quiet down.
The low rumble of an engine breaks the silence outside. My gaze drops toward the driveway just as a familiar truck turns in.
Wilder.
