Noah nodded.
The small object changed the memory of the scar for both of them. Once, the crescent on Tyler’s hand had been the detail that stopped a room and exposed a buried connection. Now it was simply a healed wound that sometimes ached, a reminder that needing help had never made him weak and receiving it had never made Noah less worthy when their roles were reversed.
Outside, winter rain tapped against the cafeteria windows.
Lucas and Erin walked in with two new soldiers and waved them toward an open table.
Noah watched chairs shift to make room.
Nobody asked the newcomers to sit on the floor.
Nobody needed to prove they belonged before eating.
Tyler flexed his scarred hand around the warm cup.
Noah lifted his own.
For once, the weather had reminded them of something worth keeping.
Long after lunch ended, Noah realized the scar had stopped being the most important mark Tyler carried. The more important evidence was invisible: the pause before an old reaction, the question asked instead of the order given, and the room other people were finally allowed to enter without fear.
It mattered.
Tyler warmed his scarred hand around the cup while Noah slid the second bowl closer, and rain tapped softly against the glass.
