Chapter 3
They moved me to temporary protective quarters that evening.
Not because I was in trouble.
Everyone kept saying that.
You are not in trouble, Private Brooks.
You are safe, Private Brooks.
You did nothing wrong.
But safe did not feel like safe when every door had a guard outside it and every person looked at me with questions they were trying not to ask.
My arm had been wrapped in fresh gauze even though the scars were old.
The medic said the wrap was for my comfort.
She understood more than most.
I sat on the edge of the bed in a plain room usually used for visiting inspectors.
The air conditioner hummed.
My torn uniform lay sealed in an evidence bag.
Miller was suspended pending investigation.
Drill Sergeant Hayes had given a statement.
So had half the platoon.
Everyone kept moving around me like the world had turned into paperwork.
But inside my head, I was still staring at the photograph.
Maya Vance.
Age five.
Missing after a house fire outside Columbus, Georgia.
Presumed dead.
I searched the name on the secure tablet legal allowed me to use.
The articles appeared one by one.
Ranger’s Daughter Lost in Suspicious Fire.
Mother Killed, Child Missing.
Search Ends in Tragedy.
I saw Sergeant Major Vance younger.
Less gray.
Holding the same stuffed rabbit from the picture.
His eyes empty.
I touched the screen.
My chest hurt.
Then I saw the photo of my mother.
Elena Vance.
She had my mouth.
I had never seen her face before.
Nora kept no pictures in the house.
She said the past made people weak.
I stared at Elena’s smile until tears slipped down my face.
A knock came at the door.
Two taps.
Careful.
“Private Brooks?” a woman said. “It’s Captain Ramirez from legal.”
I wiped my face.
“Come in.”
She entered with Sergeant Major Vance behind her.
He stayed in the hallway.
Not crossing until I nodded.
That restraint did something dangerous to me.
It made me want to trust him.
Captain Ramirez sat at the desk.
“We contacted civilian authorities in Alabama.”
My stomach dropped.
Nora lived in Alabama.
In a white house at the end of a dirt road, with locks on the pantry and rules taped inside cabinet doors.
“What did she say?”
Ramirez glanced at Vance.
He said nothing.
“She claims she adopted you legally after your parents abandoned you.”
I laughed.
It came out empty.
“She always said that.”
“She provided documents,” Ramirez continued. “We believe they may be forged.”
I looked at my hands.
Vance spoke softly.
“Maya.”
I flinched.
He stopped.
I hated that he stopped.
I hated that he noticed.
I hated that I needed him to.
He tried again.
“Private Brooks. Do you remember anything from before Nora?”
Smoke.
Rain.
A man singing off-key while making pancakes.
A woman saying, “Hold still, moonbeam.”
A dog barking.
A crash.
Hands.
Heat.
I pressed my fingers against my eyes.
“Pieces.”
“Can you tell us?”
“I don’t know what’s real.”
Vance’s voice broke.
“I can help with that.”
I looked at him sharply.
“Can you?”
He swallowed.
“No. Not all of it. But some.”
Captain Ramirez placed a folder on the desk.
“These are public records and military family records. You can review them only if you want.”
I stared at the folder.
My whole body screamed no.
My heart whispered yes.
I opened it.
Birth certificate.
Maya Elizabeth Vance.
Father: Thomas Vance.
Mother: Elena Vance.
Date of birth: June 3.
My birthday was June 3.
Nora always said she guessed because nobody knew.
There were medical records.
Left wrist crescent birthmark.
Allergy to penicillin.
Old fracture in right collarbone from a playground fall at age four.
I had that too.
Nora said I was clumsy.
Then a photo.
Me on Vance’s shoulders.
Laughing.
My hand tangled in his hair.
He looked like a different man.
Alive.
Young.
Mine.
The folder slipped from my lap.
“I don’t understand.”
Vance knelt immediately to pick it up, then froze halfway down.
Asking without words.
I nodded.
He gathered the papers carefully and placed them back on the bed.
“Nora was our neighbor,” he said.
The room went cold.
“She watched you sometimes when Elena had appointments. We trusted her.”
His voice shook.
“She disappeared after the fire. Police believed she died too because remains were misidentified.”
I could barely breathe.
“She took me.”
“We think so.”
“Why?”
His face hardened.
“I don’t know yet.”
But I saw something in his eyes.
He had a guess.
Before I could ask, Captain Ramirez’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, and stood.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at Vance.
“Civilian police went to Nora Brooks’s house.”
My palms went damp.
“And?”
“She was gone.”
Vance’s jaw tightened.
Ramirez continued.
“They found a locked room in the basement. There were old children’s clothes inside. Medical supplies. And newspaper clippings about Maya Vance.”
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Then she added the part that made the walls tilt.
“On the table was a recent photograph of Private Brooks entering Fort Moore.”
