My Mom Flies An Fighter Jet

and a sealed report. Now the voice coming through Aunt June’s dead monitors belonged to the man from the scratched out photograph. Elias Voss. A traitor. A ghost. My father.

Mom pulled me away from the screens and shoved the metal box into Aunt June’s hands. We need the bunker tunnel.

Aunt June was already moving. Been waiting twelve years for you to continue reading …