Chapter 22: The Reading of the Ghost

"Coraline," Thorne read, his tone mocking and dramatic. "I saw on the news that your unit is in the thick of it. I need money. Your father’s back on the needle, and he’s been taking it out on me again. He says if you don’t send your combat pay, he’s going to find where you stashed those old medals of yours and sell them."

The room went cold. The laughter died instantly. I felt the blood drain from my face, the white patches on my skin feeling like they were burning through my flesh.

Thorne didn't stop. He was committed now, his eyes scanning the page with a sick fascination.

"I told him it was your fault he got started again. If you hadn't been such a difficult brat, if you hadn't cried every time he had to straighten you out, maybe things would be different. Don't forget where you came from, Coraline. You’re just like us. You can put on that uniform and pretend you're a hero, but you're still just the girl we used to hide in the cellar when the neighbors called."

Thorne’s voice trailed off. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. He looked down at the letter, then at me. The smirk was gone. Even for a man like Thorne, the raw, ugly reality of the words was too much. He realized, too late, that he hadn't just revealed a secret—he’d walked into a massacre.

I felt like I was standing in the center of a vacuum. Every eye in the room was on me. Stitch looked like he wanted to cry. Viper looked like he was about to kill Thorne.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I walked up to Thorne, took the letter from his limp hand, and tucked it into my pocket.

"Is that all, Sergeant?" I asked, my voice a hollow, echoing shell.

I turned and walked out of the barracks, the sound of my boots on the plywood the only noise in the world.