Ethan barely slept that night.
Ryan’s words kept repeating in his mind.
Noah wasn’t dead when we left.
At 0600 hours, Ethan entered the military archives.
He requested the original report from Operation Black Ridge—the mission where Noah had disappeared three years earlier.
The clerk checked the system.
“Restricted access.”
Ethan placed his identification card on the counter.
“I’m Sergeant Ethan Cole. My brother was listed as missing during that operation.”
The clerk lowered his voice.
“I know who you are.”
“Then give me the file.”
The clerk hesitated before disappearing into a back office.
Ten minutes later, he returned with a thin gray folder.
“That’s all they released.”
Ethan opened it.
The report contained six pages.
He read every line.
Enemy ambush.
Vehicle destroyed.
Four soldiers evacuated.
One soldier presumed dead.
But something was wrong.
The report said Noah’s body had been recovered.
Yet the recovery section was blank.
There was no signature.
No location.
No photograph.
No medical confirmation.
Ethan turned the page.
At the bottom of the final report, someone had written:
“Subject transferred under emergency command authority.”
The sentence had been crossed out in black ink.
Ethan stared at it.
“Who wrote this?”
The clerk shook his head.
“You didn’t get that file from me.”
Before Ethan could respond, his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No one spoke.
Then a distorted voice whispered:
“Stop looking for your brother.”
Ethan stood up.
“Who is this?”
The line went dead.
A moment later, another message appeared.
It contained a single photograph.
Noah stood inside a dark room, thinner and older—but unmistakably alive.
Behind him was a concrete wall marked with a military identification code.
Ethan zoomed in.
At the bottom of the image was a date.
Three days ago.
Then another message arrived:
“If you want him alive, don’t trust Captain Mercer.”