Chapter 2: Danny’s Letter
After we lost Larkson, everything changed. The air felt heavier, like the very ground we walked on was mourning him. Danny tried to keep his usual energy, but even his jokes started to falter. We called ourselves the Three Musketeers, but without Larkson, it felt like we were missing our center.
I kept Larkson’s notebook with me everywhere we went. Late at night, when the quiet was too loud to bear, I’d flip through it, staring at the sketches he’d left behind. The unfinished one, of the mountain peaks, haunted me the most. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something undone—not just on the page, but in life.
Danny, on the other hand, dove headfirst into every mission, every patrol. It was like he was trying to outrun his grief. “We have to keep going,” he’d tell me. “Larkson would kick our butts if we didn’t.” But I could see the weight he was carrying, even if he wouldn’t talk about it.
Three months later, Danny volunteered for a high-risk patrol. He didn’t even tell me he was going—just scribbled a note saying he’d be back before chow. I waited in the mess hall that evening, my gut telling me something was wrong. Then the news came.
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His Humvee had hit an IED. There were no survivors.
I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Everything felt like a blur—a mix of rage, sadness, and emptiness. The Three Musketeers were down to one, and I didn’t know how to handle that.
A week later, I found a letter Danny had written. It was tucked into my gear, probably slipped there before he left on that last mission. The handwriting was messy, rushed, like he wasn’t sure if he’d have time to finish it.
“James,” it began. “I know I don’t say it much, but you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’ve kept me going when I didn’t think I could, and I’ll always be grateful for that. Losing Larkson was… hard. Harder than I’ll ever admit. But I’ve been thinking about what he’d want, and I think he’d want us to live. Not just survive—really live. So, if you’re reading this and I’m not around anymore, promise me you’ll keep going. For him. For me. And for yourself. You’re stronger than you think.”
I read that letter so many times the words became etched in my memory. It was the last thing Danny gave me, the final reminder of who he was and what he stood for. And even though I didn’t feel strong, I promised him I’d try.
That night, I sat under the stars with Larkson’s notebook and Danny’s letter, feeling the weight of both their absences. I wasn’t ready to let them go—not yet, maybe not ever. But I knew I had to keep moving forward, if only to honor them. The Three Musketeers were gone, but their legacy wasn’t.
And so, I stayed. I stayed because Danny and Larkson would have wanted me to. And because, deep down, I knew my story wasn’t over yet.