“Afghanistan.”
The word falls rough and flat between us.
Olivia stills beside me.
Doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t push.
Just waits.
I swallow once before continuing.
“Lost my team.”
The memory flashes anyway.
Blood.
Sand.
Smoke.
The sound of screaming over comms before silence swallowed everything whole.
My grip tightens against my rifle.
“They didn’t come home.”
Olivia says nothing for a long moment.
Then quietly—
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug once.
Automatic.
Meaningless.
But her hand slides slowly across the rock between us until her fingers brush against mine.
Not grabbing.
Not demanding.
Just there.
Warm.
Careful.
Human.
I look down at her hand touching mine.
Then at her.
