Thomas Mercer had spent twenty-two years in the British Army, and in twenty-two years he had learned one thing above all else: nobody told you the truth.
Not the recruiters who promised glory and steady pay. Not the officers who promised promotion and respect. Not even the men who claimed to be your friends, because friends lied to you every day, in small ways, about how much they actually enjoyed your company. So when he found Beatrice Fontaine's journal sitting on the desk of her estate after her death, Thomas did what any sensible man would...
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