My mother’s name was listed.
My father’s too.
And beneath them, in a line that made the rain, the smoke, the sirens, and the shouting disappear into a single distant roar, was a handwritten annotation:
Candidate rejected. Father refused transfer. Monitor for future leverage.
I looked at Linda.
For the first time all day, she would not meet my eyes.
Ryan began to laugh softly in the grass, not with humor, but with the hollow sound of someone realizing the cage had been larger than he ever imagined.
I held the paper tighter.
All these years, I had thought Ryan had chosen me because he resented my strength.
But Linda had chosen me first.
Long before my uniform.
Long before my marriage.
Long before I ever knew her name.
