It was a tiny movement, almost nothing, yet it carried him backward seventy years in less than a breath.
A canvas seat rattling inside a transport plane. Someone laughing too loudly because fear needed a disguise.
A young corporal beside him with a crooked grin, tapping the same winged pin against his teeth for luck.
“See you on the other side, Ghost.”
George closed his eyes once, not to escape the room, but to put the memory back where it belonged.
When he opened them, Miller was still there, broad and angry and painfully young.
“You boys train very hard,” George said, his voice steady. “That deserves respect.”
Miller blinked, caught off balance by the unexpected concession.
“But training does not make a man taller than history,” George continued. “It only teaches him where to stand inside it.”
The room seemed to inhale around him.
One of Miller’s teammates, Reyes, shifted his tray from one hand to the other.
