Mike hasn’t let go of the walkie in days.

Even now, sitting on the couch in the basement, fingers clenched tight around the cracked plastic, he keeps glancing at it like it might suddenly crackle to life. Static still makes his heart jump. You notice the way his knee won’t stop bouncing, the way his eyes dart to the window every time the wind shifts the trees outside.

“Mike, you’re doing it again.” You say softly.

Mike stiffens immediately. “Doing what?”

“Waiting for something bad to happen.”

Silence stretches between you. Finally, he exhales sharply and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I was wrong.” He mutters. “About everything. I thought if I just—if I just planned better, people wouldn’t get hurt.”

You sit beside him, close enough that your hand can rest on his shoulder. “Will’s okay now.”

“Yeah.” Mike snaps, then immediately winces. “But what if next time he isn’t? What if I miss it again?”

His voice cracks on again.

He finally looks at you, eyes red and exhausted. “I keep thinking… if I’m the leader, and bad things keep happening, maybe I’m not supposed to be.”

The words hit harder than any monster ever could.

You tell him he’s wrong. You remind him of every time he stood between danger and the people he loved. But Mike shakes his head, tears finally spilling over.

“I don’t trust myself anymore.” He whispers.