The Last Call

"His eyes were gone."

The photograph trembled slightly between my fingers as I stared at the corpse lying on the steel table. Two dark holes stared back at me where his eyes should have been, and the longer I looked at them, the harder it became to keep my breathing steady.

That man in the photograph was Ethan Cross, my closest friend, the man who had saved my life, the man who should have been celebrating his wedding in five days. Instead, he was lying in a morgue with his eyes carved out.

I had seen countless corpses during my years in the military. I had walked through battlefields covered in blood and stood over the bodies of enemies and comrades alike. Death no longer shocked me the way it shocked ordinary people.

But this was different.

This wasn't the work of a killer trying to hide a crime. This was the work of someone who wanted to send a message.

"The photo was taken after death," Victor Kane said.

I looked up from the photograph. "You're sure?"

"Our people checked twice. The medical records confirm it. Whoever did this removed his eyes after he was already dead."

My hand tightened around the photograph.

It had been three years since I last saw Ethan, but I still remembered that day as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. We were trapped in enemy territory with bullets flying from every direction. I was issuing orders over the radio when a sniper found an opening. The shot was perfect. By the time I noticed it, the bullet was already heading toward my head.

Ethan reacted first. He shoved me aside.

The bullet that should have killed me tore through his back instead. His spine was shattered instantly. My life was saved, and his military career ended that day.

I still remembered sitting beside his hospital bed afterward. Despite knowing he would never wear a uniform again, he still found the strength to laugh.

"You owe me a drink, Nathaniel."

I laughed and promised him I would buy him an entire bar if he wanted.

Neither of us knew that would be the last conversation we would ever have.

A month after his retirement, a wedding invitation arrived at my residence. Ethan had written a note at the bottom himself.

Nathaniel, you better show up. No excuses this time.

I kept that invitation. I was planning to attend.

I never got the chance.

Five days before the wedding, Ethan Cross was found dead. The police called it an accident. The media repeated the same story, and the Cross family accepted it.

I didn't.

A man who had survived battlefields, assassins, and a bullet through his spine did not suddenly die under mysterious circumstances days before his wedding. Something was wrong, so I began my own investigation.

I assembled a small team made up of men who had served with us in the past. Some owed Ethan their lives. Others respected him too much to let his death go unanswered.

For months we chased every lead we could find, but every path ended in a dead end. Witness statements contradicted each other. Official reports made no sense. Important records disappeared. It felt as though someone had erased the truth before we even started looking.

Then the case became even stranger.

There was no confirmed cause of death. No explanation for the missing eyes. No suspects. No evidence.

Nothing.

And then there was Sophia Sterling, Ethan's fiancée, the woman he loved enough to leave the military and start a new life with. According to everyone around her, she was heartbroken.

According to my investigators, she wasn't.

"Show him."

Victor slid a tablet across the desk. I picked it up and pressed play.

A surveillance video appeared on the screen. The date immediately caught my attention.

Three days after Ethan's funeral.

Sophia walked out of a luxury restaurant smiling and laughing as though she didn't have a single worry in the world. Then another figure appeared beside her.

The moment I recognized him, my expression hardened.

"No..."

Victor nodded grimly.

"Yeah."

Sophia wasn't alone.

The man holding her hand was Ethan's younger brother.