"Sometimes the past doesn't chase you. It waits, until you walk straight into it." —Jason Cole
Location: Jason's Cabin – 10:03 PM
The fire was low. JJ sat on the couch with a throw blanket around her legs, reviewing the sparse case notes they'd compiled: the unknown victim, the 9mm casing, the staged positioning.
Jason stood at the dining table, re-drawing the crime scene layout from memory with pencil and precision.
"I know that posture," he muttered, eyes locked on the sketch. "It's not just shame. It's penance."
JJ looked up. "Someone begging for forgiveness?"
"Someone being forced to."
He darkened the lines on the victim's outstretched hand. "You only crawl when you think you can reach something."
JJ rose and moved beside him. "Or when someone tells you that you deserve to."
Jason stared at the paper. His hands had stopped moving.
JJ placed a hand on his arm. "What is it?"
His voice dropped. "That exact posture. I saw it before. Years ago. In Mosul."
She didn't interrupt. She just waited.
"There was a village. Intel said it was a weapons hold for local insurgents. We went in quiet, full black-out. But it wasn't a cache. It was a gathering. A funeral." His jaw tightened. "My team opened fire before I could stop it. One of the men—unarmed—ran. He got maybe thirty feet before he collapsed like that. Crawling. Reaching."
JJ's voice was barely above a whisper. "What was he reaching for?"
Jason closed his eyes. "A child."
The silence that followed was sharp.
JJ's hand squeezed his arm. "This isn't just about murder. Someone's forcing you to relive it."
Jason turned, his eyes darker than she'd seen in months. "And they know exactly where to hit."
Coldwater Ridge Sheriff's Office – Next Morning – 8:41 AM
Sheriff Graham wasn't happy to see them again. But she didn't argue when Jason laid out the map, photos, and his theory.
"Tell me the victim's ID came back," he said.
She flipped open a folder. "Name's Liam Zarek. Local carpenter. Quiet. Two speeding tickets, no priors. Lived just outside town. Off-grid."
JJ scanned the report. "Doesn't fit the profile of someone with enemies."
Graham shook her head. "Doesn't even own a smartphone. But…"
She tossed down a photo. A still from a traffic cam three days ago.
Jason's breath caught.
Liam Zarek wasn't alone in the truck. The man beside him—slouched in the passenger seat—had a scar over his left brow. A scar Jason recognized.
"His name was Nevis," Jason said. "He served with me. He was there… in Mosul."
JJ's eyes narrowed. "He survived that day?"
Jason nodded. "He left Delta six months later. No contact since."
Sheriff Graham frowned. "You're telling me this dead guy was harboring a war ghost?"
Jason looked at the map.
"I'm telling you whoever killed Liam Zarek is walking a trail of my sins… and they just found the first one."
Zarek's Cabin – 11:02 AM
The cabin was a cluttered but peaceful space—hand-carved furniture, stained glass sun catchers, and a stack of unopened mail. JJ examined the room while Jason moved to the bookshelf.
In a worn leather journal tucked between two field guides, he found it: a letter folded and never sent. Addressed simply:
Jason Cole
Quantico, VA
He opened it slowly.
Jason—
You probably don't want to hear from me, but I'm writing anyway.
That day in Mosul wrecked me. Not just what happened.
What I saw in your face.
You tried to stop it. I know that now.
But someone's been asking about it lately. Digging. Not press. Not feds.
A man in a suit who knew my name and yours.
Said the dead deserved closure.
But it didn't feel like justice.
Felt like prep work.
Be careful. Someone's planning something. Something big.
– Nevis
JJ looked up. "He knew he was being followed."
Jason nodded slowly. "And he used Liam to hide."
She watched his expression change as realization set in.
"This next victim…" he murmured. "It won't be a stranger."
JJ's voice cracked. "It'll be someone who blamed you."
Elsewhere – Unknown Basement – Same Time
Nevis sat hunched in a chair, bruised, bloodied but alive. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes were sharp.
Across from him, the man in the wool coat flipped through military files, photographs, and incident reports from Mosul.
"You saw him hesitate, didn't you?" the man asked. "You saw the doubt."
Nevis didn't answer.
The man smiled. "That's the part I like best. Men like Jason—killing machines with a conscience. You just have to squeeze them hard enough to crack it open."
He set down the photo of Jason standing at his cabin.
"Let's see what breaks first—his memory… or his heart."
Jason's Cabin – That Night – 9:22 PM
The snow came down in heavy waves. JJ stood at the window, phone in hand.
"Garcia pinged another link," she said. "Nevis's discharge file was accessed last week. By a flagged terminal in D.C. Black budget network. She's tracing it."
Jason stared at the fire but wasn't really seeing it.
"I should've looked for him," he said.
JJ crossed the room and knelt in front of him.
"You looked for peace," she said. "That's not a crime."
He shook his head. "But peace has a price."
She leaned up and kissed his forehead. Then his cheek. Then—softly—his lips.
"Then let's pay it together."
Jason finally met her eyes.
And for a moment, the fire didn't feel like a memory of war.