The war leaves its mark.

Previously

…“He’s talking,” Miller said, her voice low, cutting through the silence. “Thorne. He’s singing like a canary.” Alex grunted, his eyes fixed on a scuff mark on the linoleum floor. Talking. It was a small victory, a fragile one, but a victory nonetheless. For months, the silence had been deafening, punctuated only by the phantom whispers of his fallen unit, the screams that clawed at his sleep. Thorne’s confession, no matter how self-serving, was a release, a loosening of the vise that had been squeezing his chest for so long. “What’s he saying?” Alex asked, his voice rough. He hadn’t slept properly in days, fueled by coffee and the gn