Webb followed, voice sharpening.

“I’m talking to you. Wearing someone else’s tags is stolen valor. Take them off.”

The mess hall fell silent. Soldiers paused mid-bite, mid-conversation. Even the kitchen staff stopped clattering pans.

Sarah exhaled slowly, unlooping the chain from her neck. The metal was warm against her palm—too familiar to be just an accessory. She held them out.

Webb snatched them, turning them over as if expecting to find a manufacturer’s stamp or a boyfriend’s initials.

Instead, he froze.

The engraving read:

CPT JAMES A. MITCHELL
1st CAV DIV
KIA – 14 FEB 1968
DA NANG, VIETNAM

His grip faltered.