My Killers Found My Body Today

I have been rotting in a military correctional facility for five years, serving a sentence for a crime committed by my uncle’s adopted daughter.

But on the fifth anniversary of my death, he came looking for me again. This time, he wanted me to take the fall for a capital offense.

The culprit was Lila’s long-lost younger brother. My uncle—General Alistair Blackwood—said the boy was only nineteen, just starting his life, and far too fragile for the brutality of a cell.

He said it with such casual indifference, as if he were asking to borrow a cup of sugar.