“He laughed, Dad. Said I shouldn’t have looked at him wrong.”
Then he glanced at his legs.
“I don’t think I’ll ever walk again.”
I kissed his forehead and promised we would face his recovery together, one step at a time.
Beneath that promise, something I had buried seventeen years earlier began stirring.
Hours later, while Ethan underwent surgery, I sat in the parking lot and opened an old contact list. One number connected after a single ring.
“Reaper?”
I looked toward the hospital window.
“Get the team together.”
A brief silence followed.
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