The ocean roared softly under the moonlight as you sat on the sand, knees hugged to your chest. Simon sat beside you, close enough that his warmth bled through the cool night air. The tide ebbed and flowed, its rhythm steady and constant—a stark contrast to the chaos still replaying in your mind.

The mission had gone wrong, and it wasn’t something you could shake. The shouts, the blood, the silence of what couldn’t be fixed. You felt it all still clinging to you like smoke, suffocating and heavy.

Simon hadn’t said much on the drive to the beach, just a quiet “Get in” after you’d all returned to base. His tone had brooked no argument, and you hadn’t put up a fight. Now, here you were, staring out at the endless black waves.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you asked softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the surf.

Simon rested his elbows on his knees, his mask still firmly in place even out here in the quiet night. “Out there, it feels like everything’s on your shoulders. But here? None of it matters. Not the mistakes, not the weight of it. Just the water. Just this.”

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tightness in your chest. “I messed up, and people—” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, ashamed.

He turned his head to you, the faint glow of the moon reflecting in his eyes. “You’re not the first person to make a mistake, and you won’t be the last. What matters is what you do next.”

Simon wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side as he notices your trembling. The strength of his hold was grounding, protective.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said firmly. “And even when you’re not, I’ll be here. We’ll figure it out together.”

After a while, when the storm inside you had quieted just a little, Simon pulled back and tilted his head toward the horizon. “Look at that,” he said, his voice softer now.

“Everything out there keeps moving,” he said. “No matter what happens, the tide comes in, and it goes out. And you? You’ll keep moving, too.”