“Looks like PTSD, doesn’t it? Just like Zara’s other brother—Damien. Did you know he did two tours in Afghanistan?” I nodded. Damien turned up at the Gin Mill sometimes, and I’d seen his dog tags. “The guy didn’t sleep right for two years after he came home. Told me he still sleepwalks sometimes. He woke up once on his couch, holding a kitchen knife.”
