The suit didn’t fit quite right.

Michael Cross stood in front of the mirror, buttoning the last of his late father’s old black blazers. It clung too tightly across the chest, worn thin from years of use. But it was all he had, the only proper thing to wear to bury the man who had worn it to church, job interviews, and family gatherings with humility.

His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the tie.

It didn’t feel real.

Just a week ago, they were talking about things finally getting better, how his new job might make his father proud again.

Now, he was dressing for his funeral.

The house was painfully quiet. Even Ciara, who was always humming or sneezing, stayed quiet in her room. Vivian had come early, handling the calls, the arrangements, the condolences that never seem to end. She was already outside waiting in the car.

Michael took one last look in the mirror and whispered, “You deserved better.”

*****

The sky wasn't so bright at cemetery . The air was damp, like it had just rained.

Only a handful of people had come, a few neighbors, some old friends from church, and one of his father’s former coworkers who still had the decency to show up. The pastor stood at the head of the grave with his tone weary.

Michael stood beside the casket with Ciara holding his hand. Both of them felt the heavy grief.

When the pastor asked if anyone wanted to say something, no one moved. Everyone felt quiet until Michael stepped forward.

He looked down at the coffin for a while and stared at the small crowd before him.

“My father wasn’t a loud man,” Michael began softly. “He didn’t shout when he was angry or brag when he was proud. He just… kept going.”

He paused.

“He carried pain he never talked about. I saw it.” His voice shook, but he forced the words out.

“I never told him what I should have. That I saw him. That I knew he was trying. That I noticed every sacrifice.”

Ciara sniffled quietly beside him.

“He wasn’t perfect,” Michael continued, “but he was there. Every day. And I’ll never forget that.”

He stepped back. No one else spoke.

The pastor finished the final prayers. The coffin was lowered.

After the service, people came to offer brief words of comfort. Vivian gently led Ciara toward the car.

“I’ll take her home,” she whispered. “She needs rest.”

Michael nodded. “Thanks, Vivian.”

He stayed behind, watching as the others left one by one.

After a while he noticed a dark car parked far off on the road with two men inside. They seemed to be watching him. But just as he tried to focus, the men inside frowned their faces as if they saw something and suddenly sped off.

He frowned, confused and then heard a voice behind him.

“Your father was a good man.”

Michael turned. A tall man in a black suit looking quite rich stood a few feet away, with his hands folded behind him. His face was calm, and expression unreadable.

“I didn’t see you during the service,” Michael said to him.

“I came to pay my respects,” the man replied, still looking at the grave.

“You knew him?”

The man nodded slowly. “Yes. He was a good man.”

Something about his voice felt strangely familiar, but Michael couldn’t place it.

“You were friends?” he asked.

The man finally looked at him. His eyes were deep brown, and looked older.

“Good men don’t always wear medals,” he said. “Sometimes, they fight their wars quietly, in their homes, in their sleep. Your father was one of them.”

Michael stood there, stunned by the words.

“Remember this,” the man added. “Not all heroes go to battlefields. Some stay behind and still keep the world standing.”

Before Michael could speak again, the man turned and began to walk away.

“Wait…” Michael called out, but the stranger didn’t stop.

He disappeared into the distance, leaving Michael alone among the graves and with a feeling that he had just met someone who knew far more about his father than he ever did.

There was something about the man’s voice that didn't sit right with him but before he could think more of it, the man had already disappeared through the cemetery gates.

And Michael was alone again with the silence and the grief.

The man’s words echoed in his head.

“Some men fight wars in their sleep…”

Why did it feel like more than a eulogy?

Like a message.

He knelt beside the grave and ran his fingers slowly through the fresh dirt. His father had always been secretive. Michael used to think it was just the kind of silence life forces on struggling men, not the kind that could get you killed.

A cold breeze moved through the trees. The cemetery was still again. The living had left, and the dead had nothing left to say.

Michael stood, brushed the dirt from his hands, and stared at his father's graves one last time. That’s when he heard it, footsteps.

For a moment, he thought the man had come back.

But the voice that followed was younger and much familiar.

“When I heard the news, I didn’t believe it. Not until now.”

Thomas Knox stepped into view, hands deep in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on the grave.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, man.”

Michael’s face stayed calm.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he said quietly. “Worry more about yourself.”

Thomas chuckled. “Still sharp, huh?”

They hadn’t seen each other in months. Not since the boy who used to dream in algorithms started drifting away, first from Michael, then from Vivian, and eventually into something darker.

Thomas was once the genius who could build entire worlds with code. now he lived in the gray areas of the digital world.

There were rumours about him. Those of cyber thefts, untraceable money, shady contracts with nameless clients.

Whatever Thomas was into now, it wasn’t the kind of thing you talked about under sunlight.

“That guy who came after everyone left,” Thomas said suddenly. “He didn’t look like some random mourner. More like someone checking the place out.”

Michael frowned. “He said he knew my father.”

“Yeah?” Thomas asked, raising a brow. “You believe him?”

Michael hesitated. “I don’t know. But… maybe.”

Thomas looked down at the grave, with his voice low. “You ever think there’s more to it? Your dad, he wasn’t the type to just drop like that.”

Michael looked at him. “You’re talking like you know something… like you think his death wasn’t natural.”

Thomas avoided his eyes and said quietly, “I don’t know anything. I was just asking.”

Michael gave him a suspicious look. “The doctor said it was a heart attack, so let’s leave it at that. It was natural. It just happened.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving Thomas alone in the cemetery.