Page 33 of Broken Oath

Rook looked toward the door.

No guards.

No uniformed personnel.

No familiar faces.

The hospital room had no military insignia, no identifying paperwork, and no sign explaining where he was.

“Where am I?”

The nurse’s expression changed.

Fear flickered behind her eyes.

Not fear of him.

Fear of answering.

“What hospital is this?”

Before she could respond, movement appeared in the doorway.

A man stepped inside.

Caleb McDougal.

Sniper.

Alive.

A sling wrapped around one arm. Bandages crossed his forehead, and bruises darkened the left side of his face.

But he was standing.

Breathing.

Alive.

For a second, Rook couldn’t speak.

Sniper didn’t smile.

He didn’t make a joke.

He just stood there looking twenty years older than he had on the helicopter.

Then he stepped aside.

Another figure entered.

Michael Sarrilla moved carefully, one hand pressed against his ribs. A strip of medical tape covered a deep cut along his cheek.

His face looked pale.

Exhausted.

Haunted.