RONAN Only if that path was chosen would everything else be taken away. Walking away meant losing access to the tools needed to find the people who murdered my family. Personal skills and limited reach had already failed. They were not enough. Every dead end proved that. What was needed was reach beyond normal limits. Data. Surveillance. Leverage. The kind only the NSA could give. Or at the very least, whatever the army could quietly pull together and place in my hands. There would be time later. Time after the names were known. Time after faces were burned into memory. Time after the people responsible felt even a fraction of the terror my mother must have felt while watching everyone she loved die around her.Time after the fear settled in their chests. Time after the light drained from their eyes, just as it had from hers. If my family was denied life, then the ones who started this war did not deserve to keep theirs. A slow breath filled my lungs. The choice stopped shifting. It settled into place like a lock closing. Staying was the only option. Orders would be followed as long as they kept doors open. As long as they let me hunt. As long as they did not force my hands away from the trail. When it was finally over, when the last debt was paid, then the truth would be faced. Only then would I find out if my family had truly gone somewhere better. “I don’t know how you’re doing it,” Nguyen said. His voice cut through the dark spiral in my head and pulled me back into the present. Thoughts scattered, leaving a dull ache behind. A look went his way, unsure how to answer. “Doing what?” He stared down at his hands. Fingers flexed and tightened. For the first time since we met, uncertainty showed on his face. That was not natural for him. Strength usually sat easy on his shoulders. “I can’t stop thinking about my daughter and my grandkids.” A short laugh escaped him, sharp and strained. “She married this skinny dental hygienist. Guy knits sweaters in his free time.” He stopped, then looked over. “How the hell is he supposed to protect my family? My little girl is tough, but she hates guns. Won’t even keep one in the house.” His eyes moved forward, locked on the windscreen. “I’ve called them both a hundred times. Tried the kids on their gaming apps too. Nothing but error messages.” His jaw tightened. “Feels like that cat experiment Einstein did.”An eyebrow lifted before the thought could stop it. “Einstein was a theoretical physicist. He didn’t run experiments.” Nguyen frowned. “Didn’t he put a cat in a box with plutonium or something?” Understanding clicked, slow and gentle, and for one brief moment the weight on my chest eased. “Wrong physicist. Schrödinger. It wasn’t real. Just a thought exercise.” He nodded once. “Doesn’t matter who thought it up. Point is, I don’t know if my family is dead, hurt, or sitting around watching TV.” A breath passed, shaky but controlled. “As bad as that is, I can pretend they’re fine.” Silence followed. It stretched and pressed down. “You can’t do that,” he continued. “You know for sure.” His voice dropped. “That kind of loss should break a man. I don’t know how you’re still standing.” Minutes passed before words came. The throat felt tight. “You were right back at the Sanctum Complex,” I said quietly. “Can’t kill the bastards who did this if I’m dead.”A sharp nod followed. “When we catch them, I’ll help you run a real Schrödinger experiment on those bastards.” Gratitude showed with a single nod. No words felt right. “Does your regiment still have a communications suite?” “Last time I checked. With how fast things are falling apart, no guarantee it’s still running.” “If it is, I’ll find a way to get you a line to your family.” He paused. The answer took effort. “I’d rather wait until the people who started this are dealt with. Knowing for sure might break me.” His eyes stayed forward. “I need to believe they paid first.” A glance his way. “What do you think I’m doing?” “Living,” Nguyen said. ***** The deep vibration of artillery rolled through the ground and into my bones.That sound told me we were close to Nguyen’s regiment. Each blast felt heavy, deliberate. Cannon fire shook the air in steady waves. Between each burst, rockets screamed skyward, tearing into the clouds before arcing over the horizon. Wherever they landed, someone’s day was about to end or be forever changed. Nguyen pointed toward one of the fading trails. “MLRS,” he said. “They’re covering the whole region.” “Is that bad?” The question came easy. The answer carried weight. “It means our bases here aren’t secure anymore,” he said. “No reason to move launchers like that unless fixed positions are gone. Or already burning.” The artillery kept firing, steady and relentless. “Why use both cannons and rockets?” I asked, watching the sky. “Rockets hit far. Three times farther than assisted shells. Four times farther than standard rounds,” Nguyen explained. “Artillery is for close support. High volume. Suppression. Keeps heads down while other pieces move.” The rumbling stopped mid-sentence. Both of us noticed at the same time. Silence fell hard and sudden, like the world holding its breath. Heads turned toward the direction the fire had come from. Muscles tightened without thought. Something had changed.