Erica Whitmore made a deal. She traded everything she knew for a reduced sentence in a supermax facility.
As for Evelyn… they never found a body in the ashes of the hangar. The authorities say the fire burned hot enough to incinerate bone. Part of me hopes that is true. The other part—the part that checks the locks on my doors twice at night—knows that ghosts do not die so easily.
I resigned my commission. I had to. Even though I was the one who broke the syndicate, my entire career was built on a foundation of blood and lies. I could not wear the uniform knowing how I got it.
I live in a quiet town in Montana now. The winters are harsh, but I like the snow. It reminds me that even the ugliest things can be buried, if only for a season. I spend my days teaching wilderness survival to at-risk youth. I teach them that you cannot control the storm you are born into, but you can control how you walk through it.
I lost my career, my family, and my past. But for the first time in thirty-six years, the steps I take are entirely my own. I am no longer a piece on a board. I am the player.
And I am finally free.
If you want more stories like this, or if you would like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I would love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so do not be shy about commenting or sharing.
