The skull, the knives, the Valkyrie. “I’m okay,” she said. “Better than okay.” Graves nodded. He tapped his cane on the deck. “You know, I was thinking,” Graves said. “I’m retiring for real this time. Going to buy a boat, but I need a medical officer, someone to keep me from doing anything stupid.” Sarah laughed. “You want me to be your nurse on a boat?” “No,” Graves said.
He looked her in the eye. “I want you to be my friend. And maybe maybe we can finally stop fighting the war, Sarah. Maybe we can just live. Sarah looked at the tattoo on her arm. She looked at the scar on his leg. I’d like that, Silus, she said. She raised her bottle. To Miller, she whispered. Graves raised his to Miller.
And to the ones who made it back. They clinkedked bottles. Two warriors battered and broken, but finally truly home. Colonel Graves and Sarah Mitchell proved that the bonds forged in fire never truly break. They reminded us that sometimes the heroes we are looking for are right in front of us, disguised in scrubs or hiding behind scars.
Sarah didn’t just save a leg that day. She saved a soul. and in doing so she healed her own.
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