She's just about ready with a comeback — yeah, well I wouldn't recommend breaking and entering — ready to throw down even though this guy looks like he's probably above her pay grade, and then his voice clocks on a half-second delay. She could never forget his voice, immortalized in old recordings and voicemails she'd backed up in five different places so she'd never lose them.

It's impossible. He was killed in action when she was still in high school, and while Dad hasn't always been as forthcoming with her as she'd like, she's sure he'd never have lied to her about her own brother. It could be someone else with an uncannily familiar voice, maybe. But it doesn't feel like it. Maybe someone lied to her father — maybe her brother's not really dead after all, although she hardly recognizes him like this. But it's more than enough to give her pause, to make her falter, her eyes wide and her voice suddenly so small.

"...Jack?"