Chapter 3 - Ghosts in the Open
The revelation struck Thomas like physical shrapnel. He stared at the glossy image, tracing the sharp jawline and crooked grin of the soldier standing under the harsh daylight. Marcus had been declared killed in action. Thomas had attended the empty-casket memorial service himself, bearing the devastating guilt that his orders had led the patrol into the culvert.
Leo tugged at his sleeve, pointing toward the corner ice cream stall. ""Ice cream, Daddy? You promised."" The boy’s voice brought Thomas back from the edge of panic. He quickly shoved the envelope beneath his thigh, masking the tremor in his hands. He could not drag his son into the shadows of an unresolved war.
May you like
""Vanilla or chocolate, buddy?"" Thomas forced his voice to remain steady, rolling the wheels forward with determined, deliberate strokes. Every rotation burned his shoulders, reminding him of his ruined spine and shattered lower limbs.
They reached the park across from the vendor, sitting beneath the broad leaves of an oak tree while Leo happily licked a melting cone. For twenty minutes, the world seemed almost normal. Thomas watched the light dance in his son’s eyes, savoring the rare sound of the boy's laughter. But when Thomas’s phone buzzed with an unknown encrypted call, the brief peace evaporated. A distorted voice came through the receiver: Check the underside of your chair before sundown.
