Jonathan's phone sat on his desk, drawing his eyes every few seconds. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and his classroom was empty between periods.

Sitting back, he turned away from his laptop and scanned the room. Sunlight cut sharp shapes across his whiteboard where his neat, all-caps handwriting outlined the day’s lesson. He was usually able to teach about Civil War battles in his sleep, but he couldn't focus on the lesson, even with his notes.

He checked his messages again.

Nothing from Marcus.

Nothing from David.

His hand moved unconsciously to straighten his tie for the third time that hour, then drifted back to the phone. A half-graded stack of papers sat untouched on his desk, and an uncapped red pen slowly dried out next to them. His typically meticulous approach to grading had given way to distracted glances between his phone and laptop screen.

The news sites remained stubbornly silent about anything related to the Rifts. The only thing out of the norm he could find was a Facebook reference from a distant friend about odd military movements in Eastern Washington.

He tabbed over to the Nexus Hub website and continued to press refresh, hoping for any recent news or reports. He clicked into the latest report and read a short post about awakening someone’s inner power. He dismissed the idle chatter and continued to refresh the page.

“Uhm, Mr. Reeves?”

He looked up to see Lizzy, one of his AP students. She was standing near his desk with an awkward look on her face. Her usually confident posture seemed unsure.

“The bell rang three minutes ago,” she said.

“Right,” Jonathan straightened and tucked his phone into his pocket. “Thank you, Lizzy. You can return to your seat.” He managed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He continued his lesson, starting with Gettysburg.

The next several days blurred together, and each day felt longer than the last. He found himself losing his place mid-lecture more than once, and his usually engaging discussions about military history and conquest felt hollow.

During his planning periods, he called David, but it always went to voicemail.

“Son, it’s Dad. Just… call me when you can.” His voice was steady and professional; he knew it wouldn’t help things with David, but he wasn’t sure how else to talk about what was happening. Even after he hung up, it felt like leaving a message for a colleague instead of his youngest son.

The faculty lounge became unbearable. There were too many concerned glances and well-meaning questions about if he was sleeping enough. He started taking his lunch in his classroom, where he’d mechanically eat his pre-packed lunch and refresh the news sites.

On the third day, he snapped at Jacob for dropping his textbook during a crucial point about the destruction and impact of Sherman’s March.

“For God’s sake, Miller, some basic coordination would be appreciated.” Jonathan’s words came out sharper than intended, and they carried a military bark that was entirely out of place in his high school classroom.

The sudden silence was deafening. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes stared at him. They were so unused to seeing their usually composed and nurturing teacher lose his cool over something so minor.

After class, he called Jacob back to his desk.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. He leaned back on his desk as he spoke to the boy. “I’m not myself lately.”

The teen shrugged, but Jonathan could see the lingering confusion and hurt in his eyes. “It’s cool, Mr. Reeves. My dad gets like that sometimes, too.”

Jonathan’s throat tightened, and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Right. Well, I wanted to apologize and let you know that I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

There was a moment of silence as Jonathan waited to make eye contact with the boy. The teenager nodded and shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable from the serious attention.

“Jacob, there was something else that I wanted to ask you about. That Nexus Hub website you were on last week.”

The boy seemed confused.

“I was wondering if you’d heard any other news lately,” Jonathan said.

When Jacob answered that, he hadn’t really been paying any more attention to the site, as he and his friends were beginning to think that the videos were faked.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

----------------------------------------

Small things that had been a long-standing part of Jonathan’s routine became impossible. Going to the gym became an exercise in finding any spot where he hadn’t worked out with Marcus on his previous leave trip home.

David’s first response came on Thursday evening.

David: Stop calling. I can’t deal with this right now. Midterms.

Jonathan stared at those harsh words until he was worried his vision might blur. He stood still for several minutes, grappling with the desire to act. To call his son, grab his shoulders, explain his frustration… to give him a hug.

Jonathan: Strange things are happening with Marcus’s deployment. Call when you can.

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he sent another.

Jonathan: Love you, son.

The words felt hollow with the distance between them, but he meant them.

He did his best to monitor Nexus Hub, but was frustrated as he realized that some posts were being taken down. Whole threads vanished, often leaving broken links and leaving Jonathan to curse the damned cloud.

Jonathan started sleeping in his study, where his laptop could stay open on the charger, and he could monitor news sites. His phone was always within reach, even at school. His colleagues noticed the change as well.

Principal Martinez pulled him aside after a faculty meeting to check on him.

“Jonathan, is everything alright? You seem… very distracted lately.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered automatically. “Just some family matters I’m dealing with. Nothing to worry about.”

She didn’t look convinced but didn’t press further. “You know my door is always open.”

He nodded in response but was already checking his phone again.

No messages.

That week blended together for Jonathan. He could do nothing, and no solution or plan of action could get him closer to the answers he needed.

He was organizing his garage with the door open when he heard a distinct crunching of tires on his driveway. Leaning his head around the corner, he watched a black sedan roll to a stop. Two figures emerged in dress blues; both were high-ranking officers, and one was wearing a chaplain’s insignia that caught his eye.

Thirteen years of military service crystallized into that single moment.

He paused and it seemed like the already grey October sun dimmed further.

He walked into the house and to the front door. His body was moving of its own accord, and his head felt light, disconnected from everything around him.

He opened the door as the knock came.

“Mr. Reeves?” The Casualty Notifications Officer Spoke with practiced precision. “I regret to inform you…”

Jonathan’s back straightened automatically. Old habits kicked in, taking over the need to think with what his brain thought was the most defensible posture.

“Yes, sir.” His voice came from somewhere far away. “Understood, sir.”

The chaplain glanced at Jonathan's white-knuckled grip on the door. "Your son died in service of his country. Due to the classified nature of the operation…”

More words followed, but none of them mattered. Marcus was gone. Not missing, not injured- gone. Jonathan stood rigid, responding with crisp answers while his world crumbled silently around him. The military bearing held him together like a brace, decades of training keeping him upright when his body threatened to collapse.

He thanked the officers for their time and consideration before closing the door with care. He walked to the kitchen with measured steps and paused. Unsure of how to proceed, Jonathan rolled up his sleeves and began to clean his breakfast dishes.

Flashbacks began to assault him. A young boy was getting his pants pulled down as the old family dog had tried to latch onto his leg. Getting a call from the high school about a boy fighting and standing up to a bully. Cheering at a wrestling match. Two brothers pulling a prank on their neighbor.

There wasn’t an order, rhyme, or reason to the memories. They assaulted him until his hand began to shake, and he dropped a plate. It slipped from his grasp and shattered in the sink. He stared at the pieces and realized that his hands were gripping the counter so hard that the ceramic topper was beginning to creak.

The walls of his house seemed to pull in around him, and he clenched his jaw.

Like after Emma. But different. Worse.

He found himself moving toward Marcus’s old room without conscious thought.

His space was exactly as it had been left three years before. Only lightly lived in during the weeks that Marcus could come home and visit during leave. He looked around and straightened a corner of the bed sheets before noticing the gym bag and schedule on his wall.

They’d outlined the workouts together, preparing him for his Ranger Assessment and Selection course. Next to the printout, he saw a picture pinned to the corkboard. The photo was of Marcus and Emma at a Huskies game, both smiling and wearing jerseys that he’d complained were entirely too expensive.

The trembling in Jonathan’s hands finally ceased. Grief crystallized into something much darker. Into something that would have worried him if he could still feel anything at all. He touched the photo, and his index finger tracked his son’s smile.

The house settled around him, empty and still. No more phones to check. No more news to refresh. No more waiting.

Just the silence and the dangerous calm that filled it.

In the growing darkness, Jonathan sat at Marcus's desk, staring at the photo. His son's smile blurred and sharpened with each slow blink. The rage building in his chest was different from anything he'd felt before. It wasn't hot like combat adrenaline or sharp like fury. This was cold.

The house seemed to mirror his mood, settling around him, quiet and empty. David wouldn’t answer his call, not since their last fight before he left for college.

He still deserves to know. He would care about Marcus.

Jonathan’s jaw clenched. He felt he had failed one son for pushing too hard, and now he’d lost the other to some freak accident and wouldn’t get closure because of the classified nature of the mission.

He pulled out his phone one last time and punched in David's number.

It went straight to voicemail.

"David." His voice was steady now. Too steady. "Your brother's gone. I’m going to find some answers.”

When he hung up, the words seemed to echo in his ears. His steady hands set the phone down on Marcus’s desk, and he straightened the already-straight items. He stood and walked to the mirror on top of the dresser and slowly lifted a set of spare dog tags Marcus had left after airborne school.

He hung them around his neck before walking out of the room and closing the door with an almost inaudible click.