The name etched into the metal was Nora.

“A squadmate?” I asked softly, barely a whisper over the hum of the oxygen concentrators.

He kept his eyes closed. For a long time the only sound was his breathing. I thought he’d ignore me.

“No,” he said finally, his voice like gravel crushed under a boot. “Not a soldier.”

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling tiles.

“It was 2004,” he began, the words spilling out slowly, as if they’d been locked in a vault for decades. “I was deployed. Blackout mission in the mountains. Full radio silence. No mail, no comms, nothing for three weeks.”