Page 2 of Devlin

The first village she visited was Bulit. Everything was quiet, with no sign of anything amiss. The village food distribution centers had a small number of night shift workers, all she recognized. She drove on to Mukando, then Kaoni, and Sweswe. Each village mirrored the last, settling in for the night withguards posted outside their storage facilities. They waved in recognition as she passed, their presence reassuring.

Her final stop was Kaborogota, the camp’s northernmost village. By now, darkness had fully enveloped the area. The faint glow of the facility’s exterior lights cast long shadows, creating an eerie stillness. Mia frowned as she approached, not seeing a roaming guard on duty.

Her unease deepened as she parked the Jeep and scanned her surroundings. The silence pressed against her, heavy and suffocating. A sudden noise to her left made her spin, her heart leaping into her throat. The young guard emerged from the shadows, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder as he fastened his belt.

Relief washed over her as she realized he must have been on a bathroom break. She chose not to comment, simply offering him a wave before restarting her engine. Driving back toward the heart of the camp, Mia chastised herself for venturing out alone. She’d always felt safe here, but the risks of inviting trouble, especially at night, were undeniable.

Once back in her office, she locked the door behind her and flipped on the light. Sitting at her desk, she powered up her computer, her earlier frustration now tempered by a renewed determination to uncover the truth. She opened her email and began typing a message to Margarethe Gunther, her superior at the World Food Program. Margarethe would know what to do.

Once finished, she closed her laptop and glanced at the clock. The others would be far enough in their TV bingeing by now, and she had no desire to join them. The dusty path leading to her quarters stretched before her, lit by the faint glow of security lights. She strolled, the cool night air brushing against her skin.

Her room, a converted shipping container, was a stark reminder of the conditions in the camp. A single bed with a thin mattress was pushed into the back corner. Next to it wasa nightstand with three drawers. A standing bureau was in the other corner, giving her a place to hang some clothes and store boots and underclothes in the bottom. A desk with a lamp and chair were just to the left of the doorway, her items stored in the various cubbies and drawers. A half bath with a sink and toilet was just to the right. She considered those a luxury, even if showers had to be taken at the staff bathrooms in a building nearby. She locked the door behind her and flipped the light switch, the fluorescent bulb buzzing faintly.

She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth. Looking into the mirror, she noted the faint lines around her eyes. Her body was leaner than ever with hard work and sometimes forgetting meals. Not wanting to continue to dissect her appearance, she flipped off the light and walked out of the bathroom.

Mia climbed into bed, pulled the mosquito netting around the bed, then slid under the covers. But sleep didn’t come quickly. Her mind replayed the day’s discoveries. And as usual, when she was worried about something, her thoughts then danced around memories she’d rather forget. When she finally drifted off, her dreams were fragmented, haunted by shadows of the past, long placed in the part of our soul where we stored what had hurt us the most.

Morning arrived too soon, and as she opened her eyes, exhaustion settled heavily in her chest. Today would bring answers or maybe just more questions. Either way, she had to be ready.

2

MONTANA

Devlin leaned back in his chair on the front porch, propping his feet on the wooden railing. The sprawling Montana mountains stretched across the horizon, bathed in hues of gold and crimson as the sun dipped lower. Sharing the tranquil view were two of his closest friends, Sisco Aguilar and Logan Bishop, men who had fought beside him during their SEAL days and were now coworkers in the private sector. Their relaxed postures mirrored his, boots resting on the rail, whiskey glasses in hand.

“Hey, San Fran,” Devlin called out, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest.

Sisco shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Honest to God, I have to say I’m probably one of the few former SEALs glad to give up their call sign when I became a civilian.”

Logan glanced over with a crooked grin. “Who gave you that name?”

“Who do you think? That hard-ass commander at boot camp. He thought San Francisco was a fucking hoot.”

Devlin smirked. “At least you were called Preacher.”

Logan’s grin widened as he looked toward Sisco, and they both said in unison, “But we both made a deal with the devil!”

Devlin shook his head, laughing. While on their team, Jim Devlin had been able to get just about anything they needed when they were on a mission—extra or better food, a specialized weapon, a vehicle repair, fixing the broken transmitter, or acquiring a state-of-the-art radio. Someone on the team once said that all it took was to make a deal with the devil, and Devlin could get it. Hence, his call sign was born, and he became known as Devil. “Preacher and Devil… what a team,” he said, taking another sip. "You just have to know how to negotiate.”

For a moment, the three men grew quiet. The lighthearted camaraderie gave way to the unspoken weight of shared memories. Devlin knew where their thoughts had drifted. For Logan and him, their final mission had been perilously close to their last in more ways than one.

“You know, Logan,” Devlin said, breaking the silence. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Logan’s gaze softened. “Neither of us would be here if it weren’t for Sisco.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” Devlin agreed, lifting his glass in acknowledgment. “But you’re the one who came back for me. If you hadn’t done that, Sisco wouldn’t have had a body to work on.”

He exhaled slowly, his thoughts pulling him back to that mission. The memory was vivid, burned into his mind like the scar on his chest. A stray bullet had found its mark, piercing just above the edge of his body armor. Dropping like a stone, he’d been sure his time was up. Blood poured from the wound, the pain searing and unrelenting.

While Devlin clutched his bloodied chest, Logan bent low and lifted his body over his shoulder. Logan was strong, but Devlin was built like an ox—tall, bulky, and muscular. Even in his pain, he knew he was a burden that might cost Logan his life by slowing him down. “Goddamn, you took a risk.”

Logan’s voice was quiet but firm. “I wasn’t leaving you there.”

“I could hear the blades of the bird and knew they were close.”

“I was hanging out of the bird, ready to get you two when the fucking explosion hit,” Sisco said, his voice hoarse.

Logan’s knee had given out under the weight, sending both men crashing to the ground. They’d been close enough for Sisco to drag them into the helicopter, bloodied and battered. As the team medic, Sisco had worked desperately to stabilize Devlin. Most of the story was not remembered by him, only relived through Sisco and Logan’s retelling of the harrowing helicopter flight to the nearest hospital.

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