They dragged me into the 12th Precinct, ignored my evidence, and chained me to a wall. Officer Kellerman told me I was nothing but a statistic, but he made one fatal error: he didn’t check my last name. One phone call later, the precinct fell silent as a man in a black judicial robe walked in. Kellerman thought he was the law, but he was about to find out what happens when the law truly decides to fight back I’m Terrence Hayes, and five minutes ago, I was thinking about my AP History essay. Now, I’m thinking about how hard it is to breathe when a grown man is kneeling on your neck. I’m seventeen, an honor society member, and I’ve spent my whole life playing by the rules. But the rules don’t apply when Officer Brian Kellerman decides you’re a payday. “Check his waistband!” Kellerman shouted to his partner, Hinckley. “Sir, he was just walking… he has a CVS bag,” Hinckley stammered, his voice trembling. He was new, still possessed a conscience, but he was too afraid of Kellerman to use it. “I said check him!” Kellerman roared. He yanked my arms back so far I felt my shoulders scream. He didn’t care about the jewelry store robbery three blocks away. He didn’t care that I didn’t fit the height or weight of the suspect. He saw a kid in a hoodie and saw an easy closed case. “Please,” I choked out. “My ID is in my wallet. I’m a student at Heights Prep. My dad is—” “I don’t care if your dad is the Pope,” Kellerman hissed, clicking the cuffs into their tightest notch. He threw me into the back of the cruiser, my head bouncing off the plastic partition. He leaned in, his badge gleaming under the streetlights like a hunting trophy. “You’re mine now, Terrence. And in my house, nobody hears you scream.” As we sped toward the 12th Precinct, the reality set in. My phone was gone, my evidence was in the dirt, and I was being walked into a nightmare where the police were the monsters. But Kellerman had made one fatal mistake: he hadn’t checked my last name on a database yet. He thought he was the most powerful man in the city. He was about to find out how wrong he was. Locked in the back of a squad car, I watched the world I knew disappear. Kellerman was playing a dangerous game of intimidation, confident that I was just another statistic. But some secrets are buried deep, and mine was about to explode in his face.

Paul nodded. His hands curled tight, knuckles white with memory. He looked down before he spoke, and for a moment I saw not an old man, but someone bracing himself for old grief.

“It was from 1945, outside Reims. Most of us…” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “We tried not to look for people when we got back. We were tired. And scared, if I’m honest. But your Walter, he noticed everyone.”

Of course he did, I thought to myself.

“There was a young woman, Elena. She kept coming to the gates every morning. She always asked about her husband, Anton. He’d gone missing in all the fighting. She just wouldn’t leave.

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