Not for revenge. He was too old for that kind of heat.
But because forgetting had become so easy for the world, and he was tired of carrying memory alone.
Yet another part of him saw Miller’s youth, his arrogance, his brittle need to be larger than everyone nearby.
He saw a boy wearing a warrior’s body and mistaking fearlessness for wisdom.
That did not excuse him.
It only made the choice harder.
Thorne looked back at George, and his eyes asked permission without saying the word.
The entire room waited.
George heard the hum of the fluorescent lights. The distant clatter of pans from the kitchen. Davis breathing too fast beside him.
He heard, beneath all of it, that old voice from Luzon.
“See you on the other side, Ghost.”
For years, George had believed silence was mercy.
Silence spared the living from stories they could not understand. Silence protected the past from careless hands.
Silence also allowed boys like Miller to grow into men who thought honor began with themselves.
The thought did not arrive like thunder. It came quietly, with the weariness of a bill finally placed on the table.
George set down his cup.
His hand moved to the pin, and this time he unfastened it.
The small metal wings rested in his palm, dull beneath the harsh cafeteria light.
“This belonged to Andrew Bell,” George said.
His voice was barely above conversational, but no one missed a word.
“He was twenty-two. He was braver than I was. He gave me this because he thought I would need luck.”
George looked at Miller then, really looked at him, and Miller could not hold the gaze for long.
“I have carried it because he could not carry anything after that day.”
No one spoke.
