“Why did Luke give this to you three days before?”
“Because he was worried the safety reporting process was being interfered with.”
“Did he know someone was going to die?”
“No.” Mercer answered quickly. “Do not give him that burden. He knew the command was treating safety objections like obstacles. He wanted a record outside the usual channels in case he faced retaliation.”
Olivia took the envelope.
The paper felt ordinary.
That offended her somehow.
Eight months of lies should have weighed more.
She opened it carefully.
Luke’s handwriting filled four pages.
The first line made her sit down.
Liv, if Mercer gives you this, it means something happened before I could fix the stupid situation myself.
She laughed and cried at the same time.
That was Luke. He had always believed every impossible problem was one stubborn afternoon away from being fixed if everyone else would stop getting in his way.
The letter did not predict his death. It described the pressure inside the unit, the ignored hazard reports, the way some leaders treated delays as weakness. Luke wrote that he had copied his reports and placed them with Mercer because he was afraid the originals would disappear into “administrative weather.”
Then the letter changed.
He wrote about Olivia.
He told her he knew she hated that he still checked on her as if she were fifteen. He told her he had kept the first recording of her playing trumpet in high school even though she missed half the notes. He told her that joining the military band did not make her service less serious than his.
Then came the sentence that stopped her.
If I get in trouble over this, do not turn my fight into your whole life.
Olivia read it again.
Below it:
Tell the truth if you have it. Demand answers if you need them. But play. Eat birthday cake. Call Mom back when you’re mad. Be a person after me.
Olivia bent over the pages.
Mercer and Collins gave her the dignity of silence.
The final paragraph was shorter.
I put your name down months ago for the joint-service memorial ensemble rotation because you said you wanted harder assignments. If you get one, don’t complain to me that the music is depressing. You asked for meaningful work.
Olivia stared at the words.
“The memorial band,” she whispered.
Mercer nodded.
