Jay didn’t speak for a long time after he saw the photo.

Jack’s photo.

Folded, stained, and Burnt at the edges. Pulled out of a dead man’s mouth like some sick prophecy spat from the jaws of war.

A photo that didn’t belong there. A photo that should’ve stayed on a nightstand, tucked into the back of a wallet, stuck between books on a forgotten shelf.

Not like this.

Jack was mid-laugh in the image, wind-tousled, caught in some long-lost moment, his joy unguarded and real. And that made ...