The worst has happened today. I wish that I did not have to say this, but I cannot lie. Georges was dead when we found him in the morning. He was still warm, but he was completely unresponsive. I checked his pulse and breathing to make sure that he wasn't just in a deep sleep. He is indeed dead. He had no breath. No pulse. Angelo and William the American, or just William now, were the most affected by his death. I don't blame them. They were the ones who knew him the best.

  They both came up to me when we were burning his body. William had a line of dried tears, like he was trying to get me not to know that he was crying. I didn't mind. Our brother had just died.

  Angelo whispered in my ear, "He was fifteen, Felix."

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  A shiver went through me. He was younger than even me. Georges was just a boy and he'd never be able to go home and see his family again. After that, I had to decompress, going into my tent and burying myself in my knees and arms.

  "Are you alright?" Yuri and Lawrence eventually came to ask me.

  I had to admit the truth, "No. Of course I am not."

  "Why?" Lawrence asked.

  "Young Georges's death was not your fault, Felix. There was nothing you could do to prevent it with the things that we had," Yuri tried to reassure me.

  I shook my head, "Do you know how old Georges was?"

  "He said he was nineteen, but I always guessed he was seventeen," Yuri said, "He's no different than the rest of us."

  I shook my head again, "You're wrong. Georges was fifteen. Fifteen. He died at fifteen. He was just a boy and now he's gone. He's never coming back to his family because of this mission. Georges had a whole life ahead of him and he died at fifteen!"

  They mourn with me.