The Sniper Behind The Rifle Knew My Breathing Better Than I Did

my discharge.

It wasn’t a failure. It was an extraction.

“So you ruined my life to save it?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

“We gave you a life to come back to,” Kesler corrected gently. “Outside of their reach. We put you on a shelf, somewhere we knew you’d be safe until we needed you.”

“Needed me for what?” I demanded, the anger starting to continue reading …