John pressed trembling fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes. Coming to Washington was a mistake, just as Bruce had warned. The visions were endless, confusing, deafening, in this sacred place.

He drew a shaky breath and stepped closer to the polished wall. He had touched a name before and felt anger and the salted sting of a million tears on his upturned face. Only sorrow and shattered faith dwelled here. Yet he was drawn to the deceptive aura of life fed by reverence.

He touched the stone, reaching for the future even as he spiraled into the past.