At the clinic, Lena answered the same question three times before recognizing that Alvarez was checking whether her answers remained consistent. The realization made her grateful and irritable in equal measure.
She was used to being the person with the clipboard. Sitting on the examination chair with a cold pack against her face felt like an interruption she ought to apologize for causing.
Major Priya Sethi, the physician examining her, did not permit the apology to become the center of the visit. She asked about the impact, the dizziness, and the earlier hours spent working in cold rain.
Lena described Kessler taking her arm and pulling her toward the table when she moved to leave. She had stumbled sideways, catching the cabinet edge with her cheek before reaching the table.
“Was there another strike?” Sethi asked.
“Not that I remember.”
“Then we’ll record what you remember and what I observe.”
The distinction steadied her. She did not need to supply a more dramatic account for the pain to deserve attention.
Sethi recommended further assessment for the head impact and temporarily limited Lena’s duties. Alvarez stayed until another medic could take her place, then asked whether Lena wanted someone called.
Her sister, Mara, answered from a school parking lot, a stack of ungraded papers visible behind her during the brief video call. Lena told her about the injury before mentioning the colonel.
“Did someone do that?” Mara asked.
Lena looked at the small image of her own face. “Yes.”
Mara stopped moving. She was younger by four years and usually the one who spoke too quickly, but her next sentence came slowly.
“Tell me where you are and what you want me to do.”
Lena asked her to stay available. She could not bear an immediate arrival, another worried person she would feel compelled to reassure.
Sethi asked Lena whether she wanted the stretched sleeve photographed before changing clothes. Lena agreed, then watched the staff document it without pulling the fabric into a shape that exaggerated the damage.
She identified which seam looked different from that morning and admitted she had no earlier photograph to compare. The care reassured her.
Even a small piece of evidence deserved an account that distinguished observation from belief, and she did not want anyone improving the truth because they felt sorry for the person sitting beneath the examination light.
After the call, she found a message directing her not to return to the exercise area. Another instructed her to provide her written account through the brigade operations chain by the end of the day.
She read both twice. Then she asked Sethi whether she could speak to an appropriate legal assistance contact before submitting a detailed statement.
The physician gave her a number and reminded her that medical recommendations were not optional inconveniences to work around. Lena put the phone down long enough to drink the water someone had left beside her.
Across the installation, Evan stood outside his squad leader’s office. He had been told to report after lunch, and every minute before the door opened felt like an invitation to imagine a different ending to his career.
Sergeant Ross arrived before anyone called him inside. He handed Evan a clean copy of the exercise schedule and asked whether the private had eaten.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Evan admitted he had not. Ross sent another soldier for sandwiches and waited beside him until the squad leader appeared.
The meeting was less dramatic than Evan expected. Questions about leaving formation and contacting a superior were recorded, and Ross explained where Evan had gone and why.
The squad leader had not been in the briefing room. He listened to Evan’s account, then said the matter would be referred beyond the immediate exercise staff because Kessler was directly involved.
Evan left without knowing whether that was protection or simply another way of passing him into someone else’s hands. Ross walked with him until they reached the stairs.
“Write what you saw,” the sergeant said. “Not what you think anyone wants.”
“Will you?”
Ross stopped. It was a reasonable question, and its reasonableness hurt more than an accusation would have.
“Yes,” he said.
At the clinic, Lena began her own notes with the warning sent the night before. She recorded the time from the message itself rather than memory, then put down the phone when the words began to blur.
For once, finishing later would be more useful than pretending she could do everything now.