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but the Virginia air was already soupy.
“You don’t want to fight a war, you want to be a war hero. And there’s a hell of a difference between those two.”
He feels like an exposed nerve, too sensitive to a world this unfamiliar and new—
“I’ve always hoped to be the sort of person who never stops fighting. No matter how stacked the odds are against you.”
He doesn’t remember if he had a name before this. That’s how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? You lose yourself in the cause and the work and the person you need to be to survive. You forget who you once were. Your own identity becomes a liability.
“People like Rostova are only happy when there’s something to fight. The war gave her a purpose. Somewhere to channel it.”
“It can be hard,” she says quietly, “to know what’s a memory and what’s a ghost.”
This work wasn’t supposed to be complicated—there was a universal good and a universal evil.
There was some concern that anyone who came out the other side of the Super-Soldier Program would be so traumatized, they’d have to forget the procedure in order to function.”
Imogen Fleming. Ginny with a hint of lime. He has forgotten his own name, but he remembers hers.
He will survive. He will make it out of this alive. He will meet himself again.
But he wasn’t raised to concede. Rostova had never taught him how. George Barnes had never taught him. Edward Fleming had let the German chase his king for hours, refusing to resign. He wants to kick the restraints off his legs. He wants to rip them from the table and wrap them around Karpov’s throat. He wants every man and woman in this room, everyone who has raised a finger to him, to watch him rise from this table. He wants to see them fear him.
