“That wasn’t a request, Private. Show me. Now.”
Around us, the other recruits were trying not to stare, but I could feel their attention like heat on my skin. This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid since day one.
With hands that wanted to shake but didn’t, I unbuttoned the top of my shirt just enough to reveal the scar. It was thick and ropy, the kind that comes from severe burns. It ran from my left shoulder down across my chest, disappearing beneath my undershirt.
The parade ground went completely silent.
Crawford stared at the scar, then at my face, then back at the scar. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked uncertain.“Where did you get that?”
I buttoned my shirt back up, fingers steady through sheer force of will. “Deployment, sir. Before I enlisted.”
“You weren’t deployed. You’re a new recruit.”
“I was deployed as a civilian contractor, sir. Three years ago. Kabul.”
I watched understanding dawn on his face, followed by something I hadn’t expected: recognition.The Memory
I could see him working backward through his memory, connecting pieces he’d never thought to connect. Finally, he spoke, his voice different now—quieter, careful.
“The supply depot attack. 2019.”
