The raid was meant to be simple: destroy the nest, extract the team. Mission accomplished. Until I found the ledger in the ruins—names that could burn the entire syndicate and its protectors to ashes. But when I stumbled back, evidence in hand, I wasn’t met with backup. Just my captain’s gun. Lucas Thorne. The bullet tore through my chest as he shouted into his radio: "Ethan's turned! Hostile!" Executed by my own team. Body burned. Name branded a traitor. Vandals smashed my mother’s windows. My father collapsed from shock, left paralyzed. Claire, my wife, took my death benefits and married Lucas. Even let my daughter call him Dad. Three years later, construction crews dug up a charred skeleton from the frozen earth. And inside it—a bullet hole stuffed with a fireproof memory card. Lucas. Claire. Hell is cold. And I’m not going alone. … At the border monument construction site, the roar of the excavator died abruptly. Cradled in the steel bucket was a blackened skeleton, curled into itself, horrifying wisps of tissue still clinging to the bone. I’d been trapped here for three long years. "What the hell… is that a person?" a young officer, Ben Carter, stammered, shrinking back. The veteran detective, Miller, spat his cigarette onto the ground, his eyes as cold as the wind. "Who else could it be? The traitor, Ethan Hayes." He sneered. "Tried to kill his own guys to protect a shipment of scum. Dying on the border was too good for him." My soul hovered in the frigid air, my spectral nails digging into palms that were no longer there. A traitor? Me? Ethan Hayes, who had bled for this department, for this country? How did I become a traitor? My gaze drifted through the small crowd and landed on two familiar figures. Claire wore a tailored uniform, her expression severe and professional. At her side was Lucas, now the Captain of the Narcotics Division. He was gently straightening the collar of her coat. The captain I trusted with my life, the man I respected above all others, was now my wife's new husband. And he was the one who had pulled the trigger three years ago. "Captain Thorne, Head Supervisor," Ben asked hesitantly, "what should we do with… the remains?" Claire’s eyes swept over me. Her fingers tightened for a fraction of a second, but her composure returned just as quickly. "Treat it as a John Doe. Call the morgue, have it cremated tomorrow." "Wait." Lucas stepped forward, his eyes locked on my chest cavity. "What's that in there?" He reached out, trying to pry at the object, but my charred hand bones were fused over my chest, shielding it. He couldn't break them apart. "Forget it," Lucas said, pulling his hand back. His face was a shade paler than before. "It's nothing. Just a piece of rotten cloth. Get rid of it, quickly. We can't let this delay the monument's construction." Claire said nothing, only casting one last, lingering glance at the skeleton before turning to leave with Lucas. My spirit followed them, drifting through the walls of the house that was once my home. A wedding photo of Lucas and Claire hung on the wall of what used to be my living room. In the picture, Claire was holding a little girl, her smile radiant. The girl… she had my eyes. "Daddy, where do people go when they die?" my daughter, Lily, asked, tugging on Lucas’s sleeve. Lucas knelt, stroking her hair. "Good people who do good things all their lives go to Heaven, with the angels." "What about the bad people?" "The bad people, of course, they go…" Lucas trailed off, his expression souring as if a dark memory had surfaced. Claire walked over with a bowl of fruit, her gaze flickering. "Don't talk to her about things like that. Lily, honey, go do your homework." Once Lily was gone, Lucas wrapped an arm around Claire’s waist, his voice low and soothing. "Stop thinking about it. He was a traitor. Are you still not over him after all these years?" He tightened his grip. "If you hadn't stood up back then and testified that Ethan was colluding with the traffickers, I'd never have made Captain. And that death benefit of his? It was just enough for the down payment on this house." He let out a low chuckle. "In a way, I should really be thanking him." I stared at him, my spectral form trembling with a rage that had no outlet. I wanted to rip the words from his throat. My death benefit? The money I had earned with my life was now paying for their happy home? I looked at Claire. The smile was gone from her face, but she didn't argue. She didn't even flinch. She simply leaned into Lucas’s embrace. "Don't talk about it. It’s all in the past. Let’s just focus on our life together." "What? You still can't let him go?" Lucas's voice was laced with irritation. Claire gently placed a hand over his mouth and hugged him closer. "I'm so happy now. I'm so lucky to have you." I floated in place, watching them hold each other, the hatred in my chest a churning magma that threatened to incinerate my very soul. Suddenly, Claire looked up. "Lucas, let's go to the courthouse tomorrow." Lucas paused. "Let's have Ethan's name removed from the records. Add yours." "From now on, it'll be you, me, and Lily. A real family." Her voice was soft, but each word was a dagger twisting in my heart. A flash of surprise, then triumph, lit up Lucas's eyes. He pulled her into a tight embrace. "Claire, are you sure?" Claire rested her head on his shoulder, her tone serene. "I'm sure." "The dead are dead. We have to look forward. Happiness belongs to the living. To our future." "And Lily needs a good father. I want her to grow up healthy and happy." Lucas bent his head and kissed the top of her hair. "Then we'll do it first thing in the morning." "From tomorrow on, there will be no Ethan Hayes. Just us and Lily." My soul shuddered violently, nearly tearing free from its ethereal bonds. Eight years ago, on a sweltering summer day, I held the deed to this house and knelt on one knee in this very living room, holding a ring up to Claire. "Claire, marry me. This will be our home. I'll protect you with my life." Later, when our daughter Lily was born, the list of people I would die for grew by one. Claire used to say, "Ethan, I don't want anything, except for you to come home safe." But now, she was the one erasing every last trace of my existence from this home. My gaze fell on Lucas's face, and a sick feeling churned in my gut. He was the captain I trusted, the brother I confided in. During a raid three years ago, a trafficker tossed a grenade at our feet. Without a second thought, I tackled Lucas to the ground, shielding him with my body. Shrapnel tore through my arm, leaving a scar that went down to the bone. "Ethan! Are you insane?" Lucas had shouted, holding me, his voice trembling. "Aren't you afraid of dying!?" "Of course I am," I’d grinned through the pain. "But you're my captain. I couldn't let you die." After that, every time I showered, Claire would see the scar and gently blow on it. "Don't be so reckless next time. You make me worry." "It's fine. It was for the Captain. It’s just a scratch." Back then, at every department cookout, Lucas would clap me on the shoulder and declare, "Ethan, you saved my life. From now on, your problems are my problems!" And I believed him. I treated him like a brother, sharing everything with him. I even told him I was going to propose to Claire before I told anyone else. But what did he do? He started showing up at my house more and more often. Bringing Claire her favorite pastries, giving her expensive makeup, fixing broken furniture. He even offered to "look after" Claire for me when I was on assignment. Claire mentioned it more than once. "Ethan, Lucas is being… a little too attentive. It makes me uncomfortable." But I always defended him. "He's just grateful. He's treating you like a sister-in-law, that's all. Don't overthink it." "We're brothers. He would never do anything to betray me." Claire would frown. "But…" Eventually, she stopped voicing her doubts. It wasn't until Claire became pregnant with Lily that Lucas finally started keeping his distance. At the time, I was naively grateful. I never imagined he was playing the long game. All that so-called "concern," every word, every gesture—it was all designed to drive a wedge between me and Claire, to pave the way for him to steal my life. The cuckoo in my nest. And I, the damn fool, had mistaken a wolf for a brother and nearly pushed my own wife into his arms. You played your part perfectly, Lucas. The person I trusted most fired the bullet that killed me. My memory snapped back to that border raid three years ago. Three hours before the operation, a few silent villagers had gathered at the edge of our temporary command post. "Officer, please, you have to investigate!" an old woman pleaded, clutching my sleeve with a trembling, withered hand. "My son… the traffickers forced him to run one shipment for them, and then they killed him to silence him!" "They told everyone he did it willingly, but they dragged him from our house at gunpoint!" "Those men have protection," a middle-aged man whispered, his eyes wide with terror. "The last person who reported them was accused of slander, and the police beat him for it!" I looked over at the village chief, who was in a hushed conversation with a few men in sharp suits. One of them wore a gold watch that was worth more than my car. He looked important. Noticing my stare, the chief hurried over. "Oh, Officer, please don't listen to their nonsense," he said with a sycophantic grin. "That woman's boy was never right in the head. They're just spinning wild tales. Protection? Here? Ridiculous." "Is that so?" I watched him coolly. "Then how is it that reports of trafficking in your village never reached our department? Who buried them?" The chief’s face paled. Just then, Lucas walked over, cutting me off. "Ethan, don't get bogged down in this. The villagers' information is all over the place, none of it admissible." "But the details they're describing match the intel we have," I countered, frowning. I turned back to the chief. "Who was that man you were just talking to?" Lucas's expression flickered. He quickly changed the subject. "Just a local informant. Don't worry about it. The mission is the priority. Let's not get sidetracked." I stared into his eyes, and for the first time, I felt like there was something hidden behind the gaze of my trusted brother, something I couldn't understand. Looking at the villagers' desperate faces, I made a silent vow: If I get the chance, I will find the proof. I will get justice for these people. Three hours later, the signal was given. The drug den was destroyed in a fiery explosion. The team began a systematic withdrawal. I was at the rear of the formation when a flash of white in the smoldering debris caught my eye. A blood-stained file folder, half-buried under the rubble. A quick glance confirmed it. It was the list. The ledger of protectors. "Captain, I've got critical evidence!" I yelled into the radio. But the moment I burst from the ruins, clutching the file, I was met by the cold, black muzzle of a gun. It was Lucas.
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