“What is that?”
I placed it on the table but did not open it.
“A warning.”
Margaret’s expression cooled.
“From whom?”
“That’s what I came here to find out.”
Shepard exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Open it.”
I broke the seal.
Inside were three things.
A photograph.
A redacted mission page.
And a piece of black fabric no bigger than my palm.
The room changed when I laid them out.
The photograph showed five people in desert gear standing beside a burned-out vehicle under a violet dusk sky. Faces half-shadowed. Weapons slung low. Dust on our boots. Blood on my sleeve.
In the center stood a man with laughing eyes and a scar through his eyebrow.
Major Daniel Vale.
Reaper One.
Beside him, younger and thinner, with hair pulled tight beneath a scarf and eyes already too old, stood me.
Reaper Two.
Ethan stared at the photograph.
His hand moved toward it, then stopped.
“You never told me,” he said.
“No,” I answered.
Richard made a sound of contempt, but it was weaker now.
“This proves nothing. Any photograph can be staged.”
Margaret picked up the redacted mission page with gloved fingers.
“No, General. This one cannot.”
She read silently for a moment.
Then she looked at Shepard.
“Operation Night Orchard.”
One of the colonels whispered a curse before he could stop himself.
Shepard closed his eyes.
Richard noticed.
For the first time, fear entered his expression with full clarity.
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