Phillip stepped back from the wall, his fingers lingering for a moment on the cool metal tag he had just screwed in. It wasn't much. Just a piece of scorched alloy with a serial code barely legible beneath the charring. But it meant something—at least to him.
He stared at the plaque longer than he intended. Damascus. Another city lost. Another memory hollowed out by fire. He didn't cry. He hadn't for years. But something inside him pulled tight, like a cable on the verge of snapping.
Bootsteps echoed behind him. Quiet. Hesitant. He turned to find Rebecca standing near the chapel entrance, her coat half-buttoned and her expression unreadable in the candlelight.
"I thought I'd find you here," she said gently.
"You watching me?" Phillip asked.
"I watch all of you," she said with a shrug, stepping inside. "Part of the job."
He turned back to the wall. "I don't even know how many of these I've installed."
