A few soldiers shifted uneasily.
The commanding officer’s face tightened.
“This is a restricted ceremony. Step back.”
Ethan didn’t move.
“My team went in with six men.”
His voice stayed low.
“You read five.”
The courtyard went still.
Not confused.
Not surprised.
Still.
Recognition passed through the formation like a shadow.
Brief.
Immediate.
Then buried.
Near the back, a man in a dark suit raised one hand.
Barely.
Two military police moved toward Ethan.
One reached for his arm.
The other stepped between him and the formation.
“You need to leave.”
Ethan looked past them toward the memorial wall.
Five names gleamed beneath the rain.
He remembered every face.
Every voice.
Every final order.
His breath tasted like old smoke.
The commanding officer lowered his voice.
“Tell me his name.”
For the first time, Ethan almost smiled.
“That’s the problem.”
The officer stared at him.
“You never gave him one.”
Nobody spoke.
Behind them, families waited beneath black umbrellas.
Rain ran down the stone wall and over five carved names.
Nobody added a sixth.
The military police began escorting Ethan across the courtyard.
Behind him, the commanding officer returned to the microphone.
The ceremony resumed.
Perfect.
Complete.
Untouched.
Except for the man being led away.
Because Ethan Cole was not supposed to be there.
He was not supposed to remember.
And the sixth soldier had never officially existed.
Then the commanding officer stopped.
Ethan heard paper shift behind him.
He turned.
