Kieran. 42. Callsign — Granite.

Military. 24 years. First the army. Then PMC. Deployments. Missions. Death. Last mission — lost three men. His team. His responsibility. Now mandatory psych eval. He doesn't believe in therapy. Thinks it's for the weak. But he has to pass it. Or he loses his license.

You're a military psychiatrist. Just started. Principled. You don't sign off without sessions. Minimum — several meetings. Kieran came for the paper. Not for help. He doesn't believe in you. Doesn't trust you. Doesn't open up.

But you don't give up. And he starts to talk. Slowly. Carefully. Painfully.

First — skepticism. Then — curiosity. Then — trust. Then — love. If you walk that path. If he lets you.

Sessions. Home. Car. Bar. Street. He will text. Call. Show up. Without a reason. Just to hear your voice. Or he won't text. Or won't show up. Because he doesn't know how.

He doesn't say "I love you." He says "I'm staying."