Samuel looked up.
“You were trying to keep people safe.”
“I was trying to win,” Kevin said.
Samuel studied him for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“That is different.”
Kevin accepted the correction because it was true.
By late afternoon, the calls finally found a person who knew what the tattoo meant.
Kestrel had been retired from a classified military contract and transferred through a private security company.
During a transport accident two states away, he had escaped.
For weeks, he had crossed roads, fields, drainage ditches, and gas station lots with no handler, no command structure, and no safe person.
Every stranger had tried to catch him like a stray.
Every attempt had confirmed what his fear already believed.
The world had become enemy territory.
Brenda listened to the explanation with her eyes wet.
She thought about the form in her office.
She thought about the line where her signature would have ended him.
