Flashback
It was eight o'clock in the morning, Keira had woken up and was running here and there out of the house to the village near the military base.
It was a more or less quiet morning, at least apparently so it seemed.
Jeff and Jay were sitting outside the military base and exchanging a few words with other comrades while observing the child. She was only 5 years old.
Every morning she went to them to greet them with a big smile. She was not afraid, for her it was the war was something normal, she had not seen anything else.
It was like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day.
But soon everyone understood that it was not a day like any other and those joyful laughter that cheered that war environment full of sadness and hatred would end, remained in the throat.
A single shot was fired, straight to the heart of the child who died instantly.
That olive-skinned, curly, black-haired, skinny child, a hurricane of energy now lay lifeless on the ground in the dust.
Around her the screams of her mother and then a dead silence.
Jay was still there, stuck in the memory of her.
But shortly after something distracted him bringing him back to reality.
It was her heart. She was beating madly.
The detective was white, as pale in the face as a corpse. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
He had to get out of that house, he was all sweaty.
He put with difficulty what he had found in his pocket, it was as if his hands, especially his fingers, were numb and he ran out as quickly as possible from a French door that was in the study and led to one of the large veranda.
He was panting, he felt like he was going crazy. He was losing control.
This brought him back to Jay's greatest fear: n being in control of events.
What he had around him was no longer the veteran's home in Chicago, but Afghanistan.