Chapter 5 Questions Without Answers #2
Now, sitting alone in the quiet office, he realized he remembered almost nothing about those final weeks.
That realization unsettled him.
Damien possessed an unusually reliable memory.
He remembered battle plans from missions twenty years earlier.
He remembered the names of every soldier lost under his command.
He remembered birthdays, anniversaries, and conversations most people forgot within days.
Yet when he tried recalling the period immediately before leaving the military…
Everything became strangely blurred.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in.”
Claire stepped inside carrying several folders.
“I’ve reorganized tomorrow’s schedule.”
She placed the files neatly on his desk before studying his expression.
“You seem distracted.”
“I’ve had a long day.”
She accepted the answer with a nod.
“Ethan requested another observation session tomorrow.”
“I approved it.”
Claire smiled faintly.
“I thought you might.”
As she turned to leave, Damien spoke almost without thinking.
“Claire.”
She looked back.
“Did I ever talk about the military?”
She appeared surprised by the question.
“Very little.”
“What did I say?”
“You usually changed the subject.”
“And before Wolfe Industries?”
Claire searched her memory.
“I honestly don’t know much.”
“You’ve never wanted to discuss it.”
After she left, the silence felt heavier than before.
Damien opened the top drawer of his desk.
Inside rested an old military identification card he hadn’t touched in years.
The photograph showed a younger version of himself wearing a formal service uniform.
The eyes looked familiar.
Everything else felt strangely distant.
He slipped the card back into the drawer and returned to work, determined to put the matter aside.
The attempt lasted less than ten minutes.
Every sentence he read blurred together.
Every financial projection dissolved into meaningless numbers.
His concentration refused to cooperate.
Finally, he closed the report and left the office.
The drive home passed in unusual silence.
Even his driver seemed to sense Damien wasn’t interested in conversation.
The city lights flickered beyond the windows while memories continued pressing against the edges of his mind.
Not complete memories.
Fragments.
A bright hospital corridor.
The smell of antiseptic.
Voices speaking somewhere beyond a closed door.
None remained long enough to become clear.
His penthouse greeted him with its familiar stillness.
Normally, he appreciated returning to an orderly home after long days surrounded by people.
Tonight the silence seemed almost oppressive.
He removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and poured himself a glass of water before walking toward the bookshelf lining one wall of the living room.
A small locked drawer occupied the lowest shelf.
Very few people knew it existed.
Inside lay the few personal possessions Damien had carried with him through every move.
Military medals.
Photographs.
A worn leather wallet.
Several unopened letters.
And one thick envelope stamped with faded military markings.
He had not opened it in years.
The paper had yellowed slightly with age.
His own signature appeared across the front, confirming he had received the contents upon discharge.
Slowly, Damien unfolded the documents.
Official release forms.
Medical clearance certificates.
Retirement authorization.
Everything appeared ordinary.
Until he reached the final pages.
Several signatures covered the documents.
His own.
Various military physicians.
Commanding officers.
Most pages contained language so technical it was almost impossible to understand.
He frowned.
Why had he signed these?
He continued reading.
“…participant acknowledges…”
“…voluntary authorization…”
“…ongoing observation…”
“…confidentiality provisions…”
Entire paragraphs had been blacked out.
Not by age.
Not by damaged ink.
Deliberately.
The redactions looked professionally applied before the documents had ever reached him.
Damien stared at his own signature.
He had signed every page.
Yet he couldn’t remember reading them.
Couldn’t remember asking questions.
Couldn’t even remember the room where the paperwork had been completed.
A dull ache formed behind his eyes.
He closed them briefly.
The moment darkness settled behind his eyelids, another memory surfaced.
Bright overhead lights.
Someone adjusting an intravenous line.
A voice speaking calmly.
“This won’t hurt for long.”
Another voice answered.
“The suppressants are stabilizing.”
Suppressants?
The memory vanished before Damien could grasp it.
His eyes opened instantly.
His heartbeat had become noticeably faster.
He looked around the apartment as though expecting someone else to be standing there.
Nothing.
Only silence.
He returned his attention to the documents.
Another signature.
Another approval stamp.
Another page almost entirely erased.
He remembered none of it.
That frightened him far more than the missing information itself.
His training had taught him many things.
One lesson remained absolute.
Never sign documents you don’t understand.
Had he broken that rule?
Or had someone ensured he never had the opportunity to understand?
He folded the papers carefully before returning them to the envelope.
Then he carried it into his study.
The room contained only one personal computer disconnected from Wolfe Industries’ corporate network.
He powered it on and searched military archives using several authorization numbers printed on the forms.
Nothing.
Every search returned the same response.
Record unavailable.
He searched the names of physicians who had signed his discharge papers.
Most no longer appeared in military databases.
One had died years earlier.
Another had resigned unexpectedly.
A third had simply disappeared from public records altogether.
Coincidence suddenly seemed unlikely.
Damien leaned back slowly.
Ethan’s questions echoed through his thoughts.
“Has anyone ever explained why your instincts disappeared?”
At the time, Damien had answered without hesitation.
“Some conditions don’t have explanations.”
Now he wasn’t so certain.
He walked toward the large windows overlooking the river.
Rain had begun falling softly across the city, blurring lights into streaks of silver against the darkness.
For years he had accepted every medical conclusion without questioning it.
He had accepted that he was different.
Accepted that biology had simply failed him.
Accepted that some Alphas were destined to live without bonds.
It had become easier than asking impossible questions.
But impossible questions had a way of returning.
Especially after someone like Ethan refused to accept easy answers.
Damien rested one hand against the cool glass.
His reflection stared back at him.
Composed.
Disciplined.
Controlled.
Yet beneath that calm surface, uncertainty had begun quietly spreading through foundations he once believed unshakable.
For the first time in more than ten years, another possibility entered his mind.
Perhaps there had never been anything naturally wrong with him.
Perhaps his inability to bond had not been fate at all.
Perhaps it had been something done to him.
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