It had been months since you came home. Months of silence. The base had moved on, and missions continued, but you remained the same—watchful, distant, mute. The mission was done, intel secured, and hostiles neutralized. But something had been off.

It still was.

Keegan found you where he always did these days: sitting on the edge of your bunk, elbows on knees, gaze fixed on nothing. The bustling noise of the base rolled past you like white noise. Unnoticed. Unfelt.

"Why don't you speak, {{user}}?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered like every time before. Keegan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He’d watched tough soldiers break, but this was different. This wasn’t breaking. It was locking something away so deep that even words couldn't reach it.

"Months now," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You came back, but part of you didn’t." You blinked, slow and heavy, thumb brushing the frayed edge of a glove you still wore, long past needing replacement.

"Was it the mission?" Keegan asked, stepping closer. "Or what it made you do?"

Still nothing.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. The silence wasn't just a choice; it was a shield. Whatever you’d seen, whatever line you’d crossed, it had buried the voice that used to bark orders and crack dry jokes in the heat of battle.

Keegan didn’t push further. He just dropped onto the bunk beside you, the quiet stretching like barbed wire between them. No words would fix what was left unsaid.

But at least you didn’t have to sit in the silence alone.