Storm wailin’ like a banshee, wind got claws, tearin’ at the rock outside like it’s tryna drag the whole damn cave into the abyss. Rain don’t fall—it slashes, cuttin’ through the dark like blades. Ain’t no sun out here, ain't no stars, just thunder—bright, violent—lightin’ up the world for half a second at a time. Three degrees. Hot for this forsaken moon. Cold for a man drippin’ in sweat, breathin’ like a dog.

  We just sittin’ here. Me. Lanny. Canny. Silent.

  Canny’s breathe hitchin’. She flexin’ her fingers, prob’ly fightin’ the urge to pull her knife and start slicin’ answers outta somebody. I get it. My hands twitchin’ too.

  I stare out the cave. A dark haven, endless, relentless. Sky always cryin’, but it ain’t for us. Maybe for the dead. Maybe for the fools still fightin’.

  Then I look back.

  Klaus Ritcher.

  Sittin’ alone, back against the wall, starin’ at nothin’. Ain't moved since we got here. Ain’t spoke. Ain’t barked orders. Just sittin’ there.

  Nah. I ain’t takin’ this.

  I push up to my feet, step right up to him. “What the hell we doin’ here?”

  He blink once. Look at me, slow-like. “This is the mission.”

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  “The mission?” I scoff. “The mission where we march loud ‘cross enemy lines with barely enough ammo to kill a gnat?”

  He exhales. Don’t even look surprised. “I was in the meeting. The general told the commanders how to lead their squads. He gave us this path. Said we’d make it through. No problem.”

  “But you knew.”

  He nods. “Suspected.”

  And now? He know.

  I take a step closer. “So what, this just a distraction? We ain't s’posed to win?”

  He don’t answer.

  I feel my stomach turn. “That’s sick.”

  We bait. The bulk. The weak. Sent out here loud, dyin’ bloody, so the real army—the equipped army—can win the war in our shadow.

  That’s what we is. Shadows. Already dead.

  “So now what?” I spit. “We just sit ‘round? Thought we regroupin’. Replannin’. Goin’ back in.”

  “We shouldn’t go back in.” His voice is even. Too even. “Why die?”

  My fists clench. “I thought you said we s’posed to be true soldiers.”

  “You think you'll get there?” His eyes flick to me. “Then why aren't you acting like one?”

  I stop breathin’.

  I ain't no soldier if I let the war be fought for me.

  And if I ain’t no soldier—

  How the hell I ever gon’ be a goddamn hero?

  Canny moves. Footsteps light and slow, like a blade slidin’ from its sheath. She stops just behind me, whisperin’. “You wanna deck him, do it. I got your back.”

  Temptin’.

  I grunt. Try not to snap. Try not to slam my fist through this bastard’s face.

  I drop back beside Lanny. Sit down. Breathin’ tight.

  Lanny clear his throat. Glances at Ritcher’s corner, then away. “You know about him?” he says.

  I glance at him.

  He whispers. “He's been locked up before.”

  That catch my ear.

  Lanny shrugs. “Wasn’t no small crime, either. He smuggled lives.”

  The words hit different.

  I stare.

  Canny still as stone. Then, real quiet, “The hell does that mean?”

  Lanny don’t even notice. He keep talkin’. “Government probably saw potential. Said he can train soldiers. So now here he is, a commander leading the charge… Only he isn't. ”

  But I ain't listenin’ no more.

  My head cloudy. My hands shaky.

  Because that phrase—smuggled lives—

  That mean somethin’ to me.

  Memory don’t knock. It kicks the door down.

  Men bargin’ in.

  Me, small. Weak. Scared.

  Them? Steel boots. Guns. Voices like thunder.

  Parents screamin’.

  Then dyin’.

  Then silence.

  Then me, ripped from my home like I ain't nothin' but property.

  I see it now.

  I see him now.

  Klaus Ritcher.

  This motherfucker killed my parents.