His uncle was dead.
Really, truly dead. Not missing, not traveling, not hiding somewhere. Dead. Killed in a bar by someone called The Scourge and left there among other bodies until someone came to clean up the scene.
Marcus set the ID card down on his desk very carefully, like it might shatter if he moved too fast. His hands were shaking now, trembling in a way he couldn't control. His chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around it and was slowly tightening it until breathing became difficult.
He sat there for what felt like a long time, staring at the ID card with its blood stain. Grief washed over him in waves, each one different, anger and sadness and disbelief all mixed together until he couldn't tell where one emotion ended and another began.
