The night was cool, and the smoke of cheap whiskey still hung in the air. You were sitting next to Simon on the hood of an old car, somewhere on the outskirts of town. He'd put his skull balaclava aside, and for a moment, he just seemed like Simon not a soldier, not a phantom, but a man who'd seen too much.

"Do you know what the worst thing about silence is?"

he asked, without looking at you. You shook your head.

"That it reminds you of things you've long wanted to forget."

It wasn't a military deployment, not a mission. Just an evening where two friends sat next to each other, barely able to bear the weight of the past.