Brooklyn had barely slept last night. Every time she closed her eyes, James's face hovered in the darkness and then the distorted voices of her accusers crashed in: "You killed your squadron. You killed them all."
The clink of metal startled her. The door opened and two MPs stepped aside. Behind them, Ryan walked in.
Brooklyn shot up from the bed, her body trembling before her mind could even catch up. "Ryan!" she breathed. And then she was in his arms, clutching him with the desperation of a drowning woman. The tears came hot, spilling against his chest as her body shook.
"They think I did it." she sobbed, the words broken, gasping. "Ryan, they think I killed James. They think I killed them all."
Ryan didn't move at first. His arms came up slowly, hesitantly, before tightening around her. "I know." he said quietly, his voice heavy. "They told us."
Her head snapped up, eyes searching his face. "No. No, Ryan, listen to me. That's not what happened, someone staged all of this! It's Pierce. I swear to God, it has to be him."
Ryan's jaw clenched. He held her shoulders, steadying her.
"Brook…"
He exhaled hard, shaking his head. "Even if that's true, there's no proof, nothing that holds weight. All that's left is your word and their evidence."
Brooklyn's voice cracked, raw with fury and helplessness. "Their evidence is lies!"
"Brooklyn." he cut her off softly but firmly, "I believe you for one believe you. But there's something I have to ask, something you need to be straight with me about."
Her chest tightened. The shift in his tone scared her more than the interrogation had.
Ryan lowered his voice, his eyes locking on hers with the kind of piercing intensity that didn't allow evasion. "They told me about the toxicology report... combat stimulants. You ever use them?"
Brooklyn froze. Shame rose like bile in her throat. She wanted to deny it, to scream that it was another lie. But Ryan's face was too steady, too searching.
"Yes." she whispered. The word cut her open. "Years ago, I—I was hooked on them. After the crash in Kandahar, I couldn't keep flying without them."
Her hands shook as she wiped her face, unable to meet his gaze. "James found out. He dragged me out of it, Ryan. He saved me and I've been clean for five years. Five years! I swore I'd never touch that poison again."
Her voice cracked, desperate. "You have to believe me."
Ryan sat down on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. He rubbed his hands over his face, silent for too long. That silence... it broke her more than words could.
When he finally spoke, it was slow, careful.
"You know what those things do, Brook. Even after you're off them, the damage doesn't vanish... I've been reading about them and its said that users may experience altered perceptions, like seeing things that aren't there."
Brooklyn's breath caught. "Are you saying... you think I…?" Her voice fell apart. She could barely force the words out. "Ryan, don't. Don't tell me you think I did this."
He looked at her, his expression torn. "I'm saying I hope you didn't. I don't want to believe it. But I've been in this game long enough to know hope doesn't always line up with truth."
"Ryan…" she whispered, voice trembling. "I didn't do it."
He leaned closer, his tone softening. "Then listen to me. I'll pull some strings, call in favors. If there's something rotten in this, I'll find it. But until then, you've got to keep it together. Don't give them more reasons to bury you."
One of the guards stepped inside. "Time's up, sir."
Brooklyn's panic surged. She clung to Ryan, hugging him fiercely, burying her face against him like she could hold on to him and make the nightmare pause. "Please." she whispered. "Please help me prove my innocence."
Ryan's arms tightened one last time, his breath ragged against her hair. Then he pulled back, forcing composure. "Stay strong. I'll be back as soon as I have something. I promise."
The guard shifted impatiently. Ryan stood, his face returning to the hardened mask of an officer. But his eyes, when they flicked to hers, still carried the weight of their shared blood, their shared grief.
As he left, Brooklyn sank back onto the bed, the silence rushing in like a tide. For the first time since the crash, she felt truly alone.