CHAPTER 3 — THE BROKEN HAWK
CHAPTER 3 — THE BROKEN HAWK
The suited men moved without command.
One opened a black case on Booth Seven’s table.
Inside: folded military insignia, faded photographs, and a medal that hadn’t been issued in decades.
Rex stared at it.
Something inside him shifted.
The old man picked up one photograph.
A younger version of himself stood in uniform beside a man holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket.
“This,” Hale said softly, “was before the operation.”
The diner felt smaller now.
Tighter.
Like the walls were listening.
Rex shook his head. “Stop. I don’t care about your stories.”
But his eyes kept drifting back to the photo.
To the baby.
To the patch.
To the man he didn’t recognize—but somehow did.
Mr. Hale leaned slightly closer.
“Your father didn’t die in service,” he said. “He was left behind.”
Rex’s breath stopped.
“That’s not possible,” he whispered.
One of the suited men spoke carefully from behind.
“Records were classified. Entire squad removed from active files.”
The waitress whispered, barely audible:
“Removed… like they never existed?”
Mr. Hale nodded once.
“That’s what they called it.”
A long silence followed.
Then Rex’s voice broke through it.
“If you’re telling the truth… then why him?” he pointed at the patch. “Why keep this?”
Hale looked at the silver hawk emblem.
For the first time, something softer crossed his face.
Not weakness.
Memory.
“Because I told him to wear it,” Hale said.
A pause.
“And he never took it off… even when he knew it meant he wouldn’t come back.”
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The diner lights flickered once.
Outside, rain began to fall harder.
