[ No good people. Only good decisions. Carver tilts his head back and watched as Harold gets his things together. The dog’s still in the corner, watching them in turn. Not crying, though. Just watching as the moment plays itself out, as they say these things to each other and body, again, the consequence.
Carver realizes, quietly, bleakly, that he doesn’t know what a good decision looks like. Only the necessary ones. Only Pope’s orders. And a lot of the time those hurt in that marrow deep way that meant they were important, but—
I had to, he almost says. Didn’t I?
But that’s a cop out. We own what we do, son, the commander whispers. We run into the fire. ]
Yes, sir, [ Carver agrees, very quietly. He’s never felt like more of a ghost than in this moment. ]
no subject
Carver realizes, quietly, bleakly, that he doesn’t know what a good decision looks like. Only the necessary ones. Only Pope’s orders. And a lot of the time those hurt in that marrow deep way that meant they were important, but—
I had to, he almost says. Didn’t I?
But that’s a cop out. We own what we do, son, the commander whispers. We run into the fire. ]
Yes, sir, [ Carver agrees, very quietly. He’s never felt like more of a ghost than in this moment. ]