I stared at the photograph.
My squadron patch.
There was no mistaking the shape.
The person sitting beside Vale had been wearing the same insignia I had worn.
But there was something wrong.
The patch was positioned incorrectly.
“That's not regulation.”
Ethan's father looked at me.
“What?”
“The patch.”
I pointed.
“It should be on the other side.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
I had worn that patch thousands of times.
I could have sewn one on in the dark.
“That person wasn't part of my squadron.”
His father exhaled.
“But they wanted someone looking at the photograph to think they were.”
“Exactly.”
Ethan looked at the screen.
“Why?”
“To place suspicion somewhere else.”
Daniel nodded.
“Or to make someone believe they were watching Laura from inside the unit.”
I returned to the photograph.
The black car.
Vale behind the wheel.
The unknown passenger.
The wrong patch.
Laura's note.
The maintenance records.
Everything seemed connected.
But one question remained.
Why me?
I looked at the photograph again.
“Where was I that night?”
Ethan's father answered.
“You were scheduled for a late briefing.”
“I remember.”
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
“What time did it end?”
I closed my eyes.
I tried to reconstruct the night.
The briefing room.
The clock.
The fluorescent lights.
Laura standing outside afterward.
A cup of coffee.
Her saying she had something to show me.
Then—
Nothing.
My memory skipped.
I had always assumed exhaustion had caused it.
But now I wondered.
“Why can't I remember the drive back?”
Ethan looked at me.
“You don't?”
“No.”
Daniel's expression changed.
“What do you remember after the briefing?”
I thought carefully.
“Laura called me.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“From where?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she say?”
I closed my eyes.
Her voice returned faintly.
Don't come alone.
I opened my eyes.
“She told me not to come alone.”
Daniel went still.
“Did you go?”
“I don't remember.”
His face tightened.
“Try.”
“I can't.”
Ethan's father stood.
“Don't force it.”
I looked at him.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I know trauma can distort memory.”
“I don't need a lecture.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I mean there may be a reason you don't remember.”
“What reason?”
He hesitated.
“Your medical records mention a head injury.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He nodded.
“After the crash.”
“I wasn't injured.”
“You were.”
“I would remember.”
“You were treated for a concussion.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who told you that?”
He didn't answer.
“Who?”
“Commander Mason.”
I stepped back.
Mason had told him.
Mason knew I had been injured.
I hadn't known.
Or I had forgotten.
Daniel looked at Ethan's father.
“Did Mason tell you about the second report?”
“No.”
“Then he withheld information.”
I looked at the photograph.
My mind returned to the night of the crash.
The hangar.
The phone call.
The black car.
A flash of headlights.
Laura's voice.
Don't come alone.
Then nothing.
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
A fragment surfaced.
A door opening.
Someone saying my name.
Not Laura.
A man's voice.
“Nightbird.”
I froze.
Ethan touched my shoulder.
“What happened?”
“I remembered something.”
Everyone waited.
“I heard my call sign.”
“Who said it?”
“I don't know.”
“Try.”
I closed my eyes.
The voice was close.
Calm.
Male.
Then another fragment.
A metal door.
A smell of fuel.
A blue folder.
And someone saying, “She can't see this.”
I opened my eyes.
“The folder.”
Daniel looked at me.
“What folder?”
“The blue one.”
He understood.
“Mason.”
“Yes.”
I remembered him carrying it.
But now another detail surfaced.
He wasn't alone.
Someone had been behind him.
A civilian.
Tall.
Dark jacket.
Silver watch.
I looked at Ethan's father.
“Victor Hale.”
His face changed.
“You saw him?”
“I don't know.”
“But you remember him.”
“I remember someone wearing a silver watch.”
Daniel said quietly, “Hale wore one.”
Ethan's father shook his head.
“That proves nothing.”
“No,” I said. “But it gives us somewhere to look.”
He nodded.
I turned back to the computer.
Northstar Defense had been sold several years later.
Victor Hale had retired.
Mason had retired.
Vale had died.
The company had changed ownership.
The records had scattered.
Every path seemed to disappear just when we reached it.
Then Ethan spoke.
“What about Laura's note?”
I looked down.
“What about it?”
“She said to look at the second signature.”
I opened the maintenance records.
The second signature was Vale.
But if Vale wasn't actually approving the maintenance, someone had used his name.
I zoomed in.
The signature looked different.
I compared it to another document.
Same name.
Different handwriting.
I stared.
“This isn't Vale's signature.”
Ethan's father came closer.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Daniel took the documents.
“You're right.”
He looked at the dates.
“Someone forged his approval.”
I felt a strange calm settle over me.
We finally had something concrete.
Not a suspicion.
Not a memory.
Evidence.
“Then why did Laura die?”
Nobody answered.
I found another entry.
Same aircraft.
Same hydraulic issue.
Two days earlier.
The approval signature belonged to someone else.
I looked at the name.
My blood ran cold.
“That's impossible.”
Ethan looked over my shoulder.
“What?”
I pointed.
The name was mine.
My own name appeared beneath the approval line.
The room went silent.
Ethan's father stared at the page.
“You didn't sign that.”
“No.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
I remembered every document I had signed during that period.
That wasn't my signature.
But it looked enough like mine to fool someone who wasn't paying attention.
Ethan stepped back.
“Someone forged your signature.”
I nodded.
“And they used your squadron identity.”
“Yes.”
His father sat down heavily.
Daniel stared at the page.
Then he said something that made the room go silent.
“If your signature was forged, they weren't just hiding the maintenance failure.”
I looked at him.
“What were they doing?”
“They were building a record that would make you responsible.”
I couldn't breathe for a moment.
The false signature.
The fake squadron patch.
The missing report.
The black car.
Laura's warning.
Suddenly the pieces formed a shape I didn't want to see.
Someone had been preparing a story.
A story in which I had approved unsafe maintenance.
A story in which Laura died because of my decision.
A story in which I would become the easiest person to blame.
I looked at Ethan's father.
“Was I investigated after the crash?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You disappeared before the inquiry concluded.”
“Did they suspect me?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“How close were they to charging me?”
He looked away.
“Very.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“And someone stopped it.”
I turned toward him.
“Who?”
He opened his eyes.
“Laura.”
I stared.
“She was dead.”
“Not when the first investigation began.”
“What do you mean?”
Daniel looked at the old photograph.
“She left evidence before the crash.”
I felt the room tilt.
“Evidence of what?”
He reached into the folder.
“There was a recording.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Where?”
“Hidden.”
“By whom?”
Daniel looked at Ethan's father.
Then at me.
“By the person Laura trusted most.”
I waited.
He slowly placed a small storage device on the desk.
I recognized it immediately.
It had once belonged to me.
And on its label, in Laura's handwriting, were two words.
NIGHTBIRD — LISTEN.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Recording Laura Left Behind Exposed a Voice I Had Heard Before, and Suddenly the Night of the Crash Was No Longer Missing From My Memory
The Birthday Dinner Began With a Warning From Ethan, but I Had No Idea His Father Intended to Turn the Evening Into an Interrogation
Part 8 of 12
