Cole remained quiet. He had heard enough war stories to know that the telling was often harder than the heroic outline, and he refused to interrupt her with admiration she had not asked for. Emily spoke of the confusion afterward, the people who thought she had done the right thing, and the people who believed she had disobeyed an order that existed to protect the rest of the team. She had received formal recognition for the rescue, but the official paperwork and the complicated sequence of injuries had never produced the simple outcome she needed when she came home.
"Was it worth it?" Cole asked carefully, then regretted the words as soon as he heard them.
Emily did not seem offended. "He was alive. That was enough for me at the time. Later, when the knee got worse and the paperwork kept coming back, I wondered things I didn't want to wonder. I never wanted him to be the price of the injury. He didn't ask me to go back."
"Do you know where he is?"
"No. He left the unit before I did. I hoped he was somewhere good."
Cole nodded. He wanted to tell her she was a hero, but he recognized that the word could place a heavy demand on a person already tired of carrying expectations. Instead he asked whether she wanted company for dinner. She did, and the two of them sat at the kitchen table while the service report remained folded beside the coffee pot.
The following weeks exposed a different difficulty. Emily had begun to trust the people at Thunder Ridge, and the trust itself made her anxious. A missed phone call or a late visit could send her thoughts racing toward the assumption that the arrangement was ending. When Reese failed to appear one evening because his truck broke down, Emily spent hours convincing herself she had somehow become too much trouble, even though he called as soon as he could.
She woke at night with her heart pounding and the sense that something terrible was about to happen. Sometimes there were memories attached, sounds or sights from the last deployment, but other times the fear arrived without a story. She began snapping at small acts of help, particularly when people moved her belongings without asking. After she spoke sharply to Cody for carrying her toolbox, she saw the hurt on his face and felt ashamed before he had even left the room.
Cole heard about the argument and came to visit the following morning. He did not scold her or demand gratitude. He sat across from her, noticed the untouched breakfast beside her chair, and asked whether she was sleeping. Emily said she was fine, then stopped herself because the word had become her favorite way to keep a door closed.
"I'm not fine," she admitted. "My knee's healing, the job is there, people are helping, and I feel worse inside than I did when everything was falling apart. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"What happens when somebody's late?" Cole asked.
"I assume they're not coming back. Then I hate myself for assuming it."
He sat with the answer. "Maybe you've had too many people fail to come back when they said they would."