Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-Five
Markus stood by the window long after Ahmet finished speaking, the glass cool beneath his palm. Everything seemed busy and calm. And yet, something about it felt newly fragile, like a house built over a fault line he'd only just discovered.
"I've been trying to remember," Markus said at last, his voice low. "For years."
Ahmet didn't interrupt. He'd learned that Markus only spoke this seriously when the memories were sharp enough to cut.
"Our fathers fought," Markus went on. "Not shouting. Not the kind that draws attention. The quiet kind. The kind that makes the air heavy." He exhaled slowly. "It was about a child."
Ahmet's brows knit. "A child?"
"Yes." Markus nodded once. "Someone who wasn't supposed to be in the fire. The mother and aunt too." His jaw tightened as if the words tasted wrong. "Back then, I thought it was just another mission gone bad. But now… now I'm not so sure."
Ahmet shifted, the weight in his chest pressing harder.
