She reached into the deep inner pocket of the wet wool coat she was carrying.

“He had this,” she said, pulling out a small, sealed plastic bag, and inside it, a heavy, military-issue flash drive.

She didn’t hand it to me.

She held it up so the security light caught the white label taped to the plastic.

Printed on the tape in neat, black ink was my name: *Captain Natalie Brooks.*

Below my name was a date.

It was tomorrow’s date.

“There was a paper with it,” Madison whispered, her face completely pale in the rain. “A military death certificate, Natalie. Signed by Colonel Hayes.”

My heart stopped.

“With tomorrow’s date,” Madison repeated, her voice cracking.

Before I could speak, the phone in my pocket vibrated sharply against my hip.

The screen lit up, the blue light bleeding through the fabric of my jacket.

I pulled it out with a wet hand.

The caller ID was blocked, but the preview of the text message showed a single line.

The text was from a number I did not recognize, but the message itself was unmistakable.