I tell him I will check in again soon, and when I leave the room Amy gives me a small nod that carries quiet gratitude and shared understanding.
The office feels almost comforting by comparison, all familiar desks and papers and screens glowing softly with information waiting to be handled, and I slip into the chair behind the desk with a sense of grim determination. School work sits alongside pack matters now, assignments and schedules interwoven with patrol reports and resource requests, and I start working through them methodically because structure is the only thing keeping everything from blurring together into something unmanageable.
I make lists. I answer messages. I adjust training rotations and flag a supply issue for later follow up. Each completed task feels like a small ancho
