“They knew.”
I swallow. “Knew what?”
“That I wasn’t coming back.”
The words land softly. Devastatingly.
“They held position anyway,” he says. “Bought me time. Covered the exit.”
His hands tremble once before he stills them.
“They were still alive when I lifted off.”
My stomach turns.
“And you survived,” I say quietly.
He lets out a hollow sound that almost resembles laughter.
“Survived,” he repeats. “Yeah.”
I step closer.
“You saved twelve civilians.”
“And left six of mine.”
“You couldn’t?—”
“I could’ve tried.”
His eyes flare now.
“I could’ve gambled the civilians and doubled back. I could’ve risked it.”
“And maybe lost everyone,” I counter.
“And maybe not.”
The weight of his guilt fills the corridor.
“They called me a hero,” he says. “They handed me commendations. They told me I did the right thing.”
He looks at me like he wants me to argue.
“I don’t believe them.”
“Why?”
“Because I hear their voices when I sleep.”
The confession hangs there.
“I survived,” he says, quieter now. “And every job since has felt like interest on a debt I shouldn’t have been allowed to keep.”
My pulse pounds in my ears.
“You think survival was a mistake,” I say slowly.
