The funeral was held in Riverton, where the flag-draped casket lay beneath a canopy of white. Rows of soldiers stood in stiff formation, their silence louder than any chant. Civilians filled the seats beyond... families, neighbors and faces both known and unknown. The air was thick with grief, sharp with the weight of loss.
James's coffin sat at the center, polished wood gleaming under the muted sky. His photograph rested atop it: his sharp jaw, his steady eyes, the kind of soldier who would never falter.
Brooklyn's chest caved in at the sight. But it wasn't the coffin or the photograph that undid her. It was the faces in the crowd.
Winnie and Charlie... James's parents sat in the front row, their grief carved deep into their lined faces. Beside them was Wanda, his sister, her jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. And further down, almost small in her seat was Olivia.
The girl's wide eyes clung to her mother with something that looked like fear. It broke Brooklyn more than the coffin ever could.
When the crowd spotted her, the silence shattered.
"She's here."
"Murderer."
"Killer."
"Monster."
Winnie rose first, her voice ragged but powerful. "You don't belong here, Brooklyn! My son's blood is on your hands!"
Charlie stood beside his wife, his finger jabbing the air like a blade. "How dare you show your face at his funeral! When you're murdered him!"
Brooklyn staggered back a step, shaking her head, lips trembling. "No... I didn't..."
"Don't you dare speak!" Wanda's voice cut sharp, venomous. Tears streaked her face as she pointed at Brooklyn. "We know what you did. The whole world knows. You're not family... you're a disgrace. You killed my brother!"
The crowd's muttering swelled, voices overlapping, turning into a chorus of hatred.
And then she saw her daughter shrink in her seat, eyes wide, shoulders curling in as though she's scared of her.
Tears blurred Brooklyn's vision as she reached a trembling hand toward her child but the girl turned her face away, burying it into Wanda's side.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"Everyone, calm down please." Vance said.
He stepped forward, grabbing Brooklyn by the arm not roughly but firmly and pulled her back, shielding her from the swarm of voices.
Her sobs came raw now, unstoppable. She could barely walk, stumbling against Vance's hold as the soldiers moved to block the crowd.
"Get that thing out of here!" Winnie screamed, her voice breaking. "Don't let it stain his grave!"
Another pair of voices rose, cutting through the noise.
"Stop it!"
Grace Hale... Brooklyn's mother burst from the side of the aisle, her husband Richard right behind her. Grace's face was streaked with tears, her arms already outstretched.
"That's our daughter! You leave her be!"
Grace and Richard followed, pushing past the guards until finally the four of them broke free from the fury of the crowd.
Vance gave them the space, stepping aside.
Brooklyn collapsed into her mother's embrace, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm sorry." she cried, her words tumbling out in gasps.
"I'm so sorry... I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I swear to God. The stimulants… they messed me up. I lost control... I didn't… I didn't kill them. I didn't."
Grace held her tighter, rocking her like a child, whispering through her own tears.
"Baby, baby, no. It's not your fault. Do you hear me? It's not your fault, this is just a big misunderstanding."
Richard placed a hand on her shoulder, his rough voice breaking. "You're still our child, Brooklyn. You hear me? No matter what they say, we believe you."
Her cries muffled into her mother's shoulder, the grief pouring out in rivers, years of training and armor shattered into nothing.
"I never meant for this. I..."
"We know, baby." Grace whispered. "We know."
For a fleeting moment, Brooklyn felt the fragile thread of hope, the warmth of unconditional love that reminded her she wasn't entirely alone.
But reality clawed back fast. Vance cleared his throat, his face grave.
"Time's up."
Grace looked at him with fire, ready to fight but Richard put a steadying hand on her arm. "We'll see her again. We will."
The soldiers closed in again, their shadow swallowing hers.
As they escorted her back through the angry murmurs, she clung to her mother's words echoing in her head: It's not your fault. It's not your fault.
But deep down, Brooklyn wasn't sure she believed them.