The skeleton was curled fetal, unearthed beneath layers of time and silence.

Tony crouched beside it, the desert wind dry in his throat. No ID, no clothes, just fragments and the question: Who were you?

He’d made a career of masks—movie quotes, grins—but this, this was raw. Pure.

“Her pelvis shows trauma,” Ducky murmured.

Tony swallowed hard. “Someone tried to erase her.”

But bones remember. They hold the truths no one speaks.

Later, he stared at her photo, pieced together like a puzzle. Not a Jane Doe anymore.

“Gotcha,” he whispered. “No one disappears on my watch. Not forever.”

100 words