Chapter 15 · The Name Beneath the Ink

"It was him."

Rhys said it like he was naming a dead man.

Cyrus's throat tightened. "What was me?"

"The medic who inscribed Kael Thorne's command chain." Rhys leaned back, arms folded. "Five years ago. Northern garrison. Winter of '43. That was you, Vale. You burned the star off her wrist. You broke her first mark."

Boots scraped over the gravel outside. Kael's voice carried through the open door, low and steady as she spoke to one of the children.

Twenty feet away.

Maybe less.

Cyrus kept his hands in his pockets so Rhys wouldn't see them shake. "You're lying."

"Am I?"

"You pulled me here to fix her ink. Not to play soldier with a bad memory."

Rhys's mouth thinned. "You remember her."

The words hit harder than a fist.

Cyrus looked toward the doorway. "I worked on dozens of recruits."

"Don't insult me." Rhys's voice lost its lazy edge. "You deserted after that job. You ran from the uniform, started forging black-market ink, and never went near a military clinic again. Why?"

Cyrus tried to breathe.

The memory opened anyway.

A girl on a steel table. Sixteen, maybe. Feral eyes. Wrists strapped down until the skin split.