I grab my medical bag and head down the hallway. The door's locked from inside like I showed her weeks ago. Complete control over her space, over who enters.
I knock softly. "Traci, it's Helena. The fighting's over. Everyone's okay."
Silence.
I try again. "I'm going to wait right here until you're ready. No rush. Just want you to know you're safe."
Several long minutes pass. Then the lock clicks.
The door opens a crack. Traci's face appears, pale and drawn. Her eyes are wide with residual fear.
I keep my movements slow, deliberate. "Can I come in?"
She nods once, steps back.
The infirmary shows signs of her vigil during the firefight. Blanket pulled off the bed and wadded in the corner where she must have huddled. Her backpack clutched against her chest like armor. Notebook open on the floor with writing I can't quite make out from this angle.
"You did exactly right," I tell her, keeping my voice steady and calm. "Stayed where it was safe. Followed protocol. That's what we needed you to do."
She's breathing too fast. Shallow, rapid breaths that signal panic starting to claw its way up.
I crouch beside her, bringing myself to eye level. "Four counts. With me."
She knows this. We've done it before. Her eyes lock on mine and she tries to match my rhythm.
In for four. Hold. Out for four.
Her chest stutters but she's trying, following the pattern we've established during the times she’s been with us. Time filled with panic attacks and nightmares.
We do this together. Over and over until the panic recedes enough for rational thought to surface through the terror. Untilher breathing steadies and the wild look in her eyes starts to fade.
She reaches for her notebook with trembling hands.
They came back. Just like you said.
"They did. And we drove them off. Again."
I heard gunshots. So many gunshots.
"I know. It was loud and scary and you were alone in here while it happened." I don't minimize what she experienced. "But you stayed safe. That's what matters."
More writing, faster now.
What if they'd gotten through? What if they'd killed everyone and I was just hiding in here waiting?
"They didn't get through. Your uncle and the others held the line." I meet her eyes. "Traci, I need you to hear this. You're not going to be alone again. Not while people who care about you are still breathing."
She studies my face, searching for truth. Then reaches for the notebook again.
Uncle Eli looked different when he came to check on me after. Scary different.
That's the thing about operatives, the switch from civilian to combatant shows in their eyes, their movements, the controlled violence barely leashed. Eli came to verify she was safe while still running on combat adrenaline, and Traci saw exactly what he'd become during the firefight.
"He was protecting you," I say carefully. "Sometimes protection looks scary. But that doesn't change what it is."
I know. I'm not afraid of him. I just...She pauses, writes more slowly.I don't want to lose him. Or you. Or anyone else who's trying to help me.
The vulnerability in that admission costs her something. This girl who survived months of hell by trusting no one, admitting she's terrified of losing the few people she's started to trust.
