As the afternoon sun slanted across the room, painting long stripes of gold on the floor, Marcus stood beside my bed and rested his hand on my shoulder.
I understood what he meant.
Ready to stop fighting.
Ready to let go.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I think I am.”
The brotherhood formed a wide circle around me, hands touching shoulders, a chain of connection and loyalty stronger than blood.
Shadow began humming a low, steady tune—an old military melody I hadn’t heard since my twenties. Tank joined. Mae followed. Soon the entire circle was humming, the room vibrating with a solemn warmth that I felt deep in my bones.
Marcus leaned close and whispered,
“You’re not dying a forgotten man.
You’re dying a brother.
A warrior.
And we’ll carry your story everywhere the road takes us.”
Those were the last words I heard from him.
The last words I needed.
My breaths grew softer.
The shadows in the room stretched longer.
The world began to blur gently, like a photograph fading around the edges.
Only gratitude.
Only peace.
THE AFTERMATH — WHAT HAPPENED AFTER I WAS GONE
