Chapter 7: Seeds of Doubt
Idris didn't sleep.
The screen stayed on.
The document—still open—glowed faintly in the darkness of his room. The words hadn't changed.
But they felt heavier now.
More real.
Silas Vance
The name sat there like something foreign.
Something distant.
Idris leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough to hurt.
"This isn't real…"
The words sounded empty.
He read the document again.
Slower this time.
Carefully.
Military language.
Cold.
Precise.
"…unauthorized engagement…"
"…civilian structure…"
"…collateral damage…"
His jaw tightened.
No.
Silas wouldn't—
Would he?
Idris shut his eyes.
A memory surfaced.
Snow.
A rifle in his hands.
Silas standing behind him.
"Control your breathing," Silas had said. "You don't take a shot unless you're sure."
Sure.
Idris' eyes opened again.
Then why would he fire into a school?
The thought hit like a punch.
He pushed back from the desk suddenly, standing up.
"No."
Too fast.
Too easy.
This was wrong.
It had to be.
His gaze drifted toward the door.
Down the hallway.
Silas was home.
He could ask him.
End it.
One question.
One answer.
That would be enough.
…Right?
Idris took a step toward the door.
Then stopped.
The message echoed in his mind.
"That's what they told you."
His chest tightened again.
What if—
No.
He shook his head.
Hard.
Silas saved him.
That was the truth.
But another voice whispered—
Saved you from what?
Idris clenched his fists.
This wasn't him.
These thoughts—
They weren't his.
His eyes drifted back to the screen.
Another message blinked.
"I know it's hard."
Idris froze.
He hadn't replied.
"Truth always is."
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
"What do you want?"
The response came slower this time.
"For you to see clearly."
Idris scoffed under his breath.
"You send me fake files and call that clarity?"
A pause.
Then—
Another file appeared.
Idris hesitated longer this time.
His heart beat louder.
But again—
He clicked it.
This one was different.
Photos.
Blurry.
Grainy.
Smoke.
Fire.
A building—
His breath caught.
A school.
Not clear enough to recognize.
But familiar.
Too familiar.
Another image.
Bodies.
Covered.
Idris leaned back sharply.
"No…"
A final image.
A soldier.
Partially visible.
Back turned.
But the uniform—
The stance—
Something about it felt—
Close.
"He was there."
The message appeared beneath the image.
Idris' chest tightened painfully.
"No…"
His voice was quieter now.
Less certain.
"He saved me…"
"After it was done."
The words hit deeper than anything before.
Idris' breathing slowed again.
That same unnatural stillness.
Like his body didn't know how to react.
"You're lying."
No answer.
Seconds passed.
Then—
"Ask him."
Idris stared at the screen.
"Watch his face."
Silence.
The message didn't continue.
It didn't need to.
Idris stood there, unmoving.
The room felt smaller.
Colder.
His mind raced.
Memories replayed.
Overlapping.
Distorting.
Silas pulling him from the rubble.
Silas teaching him to breathe.
Silas giving him his name.
Silas.
The man who stayed.
Or the man who—
Idris turned away sharply.
"No."
He walked to the window.
The rain had stopped.
The glass reflected his face faintly.
Older now.
Harder.
Not the boy from Kandahar.
But not someone new either.
Something in between.
Lost.
Behind him, the laptop screen dimmed slightly.
But the words stayed.
Unseen.
Unspoken.
Growing.
The next morning felt… off.
Nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Elena moved around the kitchen as she always did.
Soft steps.
Warm voice.
"Morning."
Idris nodded.
Silas sat at the table, reading something on his tablet.
Coffee beside him.
Normal.
Too normal.
Idris watched him.
Carefully.
Looking for something.
Anything.
A sign.
Silas glanced up.
Their eyes met.
For a second—
Idris felt it.
That same steady presence.
The same man.
Unchanged.
"Something on your mind?" Silas asked.
Simple.
Direct.
Idris froze.
This was it.
One question.
His throat tightened.
The words came close—
Then stopped.
"…No."
Silas studied him for a moment longer.
Then nodded.
"Alright."
And just like that—
The moment passed.
Idris looked away.
Coward.
The word hit hard.
But something else answered—
Not yet.
Later that day—
Idris sat alone again.
The laptop open.
The messages waiting.
He didn't hesitate this time.
"What else do you have?"
The reply came almost instantly.
"Everything."
A pause.
Then—
"If you're ready."
Idris stared at the screen.
His reflection stared back.
Two versions of himself.
One that trusted.
One that questioned.
And for the first time—
He didn't know which one was real.
His fingers moved.
"I'm listening."
The message sent.
The line crossed.
And somewhere far away—
Someone smiled.
Because doubt—
Was exactly where they needed him.