Those words looked neat on paper. They didn’t look like the man who taught Aria to change a tire in their driveway while a small American flag flicked softly on the porch behind them.

They didn’t sound like her mother crying into a dish towel because the Navy had sent folded language instead of answers.

Aria read that report until the paper went soft at the fold. She read the signatures. She read the timestamps. She read what was there and, more importantly, what wasn’t.

Mercer’s name wasn’t on the first page. That was how powerful men survived bad paper — they made sure their fingerprints stayed one layer away.

But Ronan Vance had left his daughter a habit Mercer hadn’t counted on.

She didn’t stop at the first page.