They said I djed in combat. I made it home, only to find my parents throwing a party—not to mourn me, but to celebrate a massive insurance payout. I stood there, frozen, staring at the $3 million check. I was going to just walk away, but I couldn’t. Ten minutes later, I crashed the party. Every laugh abruptly died out, replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the floor and faces frozen in sheer terror.
“Invitation, please.” “I don’t have one.” “I’m sorry, ma’am. Private event only.” Private. My own house. For a brief moment, I considered saying my name. Letting the truth settle everything instantly. But I stopped myself. The past six months had taught me something sharper than impulse—patience. Out there, rushing got people killed. Here, it could…