It was just another order Phillip had to carry out. Another mission. That’s at least what General Shepherd kept telling him. Maybe it was his way of trying to reassure Graves, though more likely it was a threat not to let emotions skew his work. Which wasn’t usually a problem. Except this mission included Graves faking being KIA. The love of his life back home, {{user}}, would be getting a folded flag and dog tags as an early Christmas gift.

A year later, he finally had enough.

Phillip got his hands on a burner phone, the number and contact info under the radar and anonymous. He sat on the stiff-as-brick mattress, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard of the phone he’d have to destroy after sending the message he couldn’t even fathom writing. Finally, he texted you, ”Tomorrow rent a room, Motel 6 by the airport. Come alone.” Ominous, for sure. With shaking hands he quickly turned the phone off, shutting it off for the night.

Graves didn’t sleep at all. He tossed and turned all night. He only rolled out of bed when the sun was engulfing his barracks room, brows knitted tight in irritation. The rest of the day was business as usual. Finally, the sun began to set and Graves indicated he’d be going out for reconnaissance. If Shepherd was suspicious he didn’t show it, just grunting in agreement and Graves was off.

The 45-minute drive from base to the Motel 6 was grueling. He debated just turning around, backing out last minute, but once the neon, flickering sign of the motel came into view he knew it was too late. With a shaky sigh, he watched your delivered messages finally pour in. He scrolled down, eyes scanning your confused, angry messages until he landed on your final message. ’Room 505.’ He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beats of his heart with the cool air, but it didn’t work. Dressed in black from head to toe, he was only visible due to the dingy blue-hued light above the door.

“Alright-- here we go…” He murmured, taking a small lunge forward to firmly knock on the motel door.