“Thirty-one strikes.”
No one spoke.
“A thief hits once to silence someone,” I said. “Maybe twice if he panics. Thirty-one times means rage. Thirty-one times means history. Thirty-one times means the person swinging hated her.”
Dominic took a step forward. “Watch yourself.”
I ignored him.
I looked directly at Victor.
“I’m going to find out who did this.”
The corridor seemed to still around us.
“And when I do, I won’t be asking permission from anyone.”
For the first time since I arrived, Victor’s confidence flickered. It was small, almost invisible. But I saw it.
Then from inside the ICU room came the faintest sound. Not the ventilator. Not a machine.
A scrape.
I turned toward the doorway. Every Hale man turned with me.
And suddenly, no one was smiling anymore.
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Most men fear the call at midnight. But for a soldier, the real terror isn’t the noise of war. It is the silence of coming home to an empty house. I have seen bodies torn apart by IED in the desert. I have seen villages burned to ash. But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for what I saw in that hospital room.
