I looked at the letter and felt nothing at all.

The ghost he created was finally, truly dead.

I walked to the heavy industrial shredder near the security checkpoint. I didn’t open the letter. I didn’t hesitate. I dropped the envelope into the thin black slot.

The machine whirred for half a second, turning his pleas into meaningless confetti.

I walked out the doors of the Pentagon. The hot rush of air from the idling Black Hawk hit my face. The rotors spun, kicking up a storm of dust and wind, ready to carry me back to the world that actually mattered.

I adjusted my cover, felt the weight of three stars on my collar, and stepped into the storm.

THE END.