Sebastian Krueger stood at her door and tried to say sorry. He had rehearsed it for two days. Three years ago she begged him not to re-enlist. He went anyway. Now he had come back to win her again, and the first word stuck in his throat like shrapnel. She opened the door of the apartment above the bakery. Warm light fell across the landing. Flour dusted her sleeves. Her eyes went flat the moment she saw his half-mask. She did not invite him in. "I came to talk," he said. His voice came out hard and clipped, the way he gave orders. "About what happened. It was a tactical decision." The words landed wrong. He heard it himself. Her jaw tightened. "Tactical," she repeated. "You left me for a tactical decision." She stepped back. "Go home, Sebastian." The door shut. He stood there, breathing. Years of combat had burned the softness out of his speech. He could brief a squad under fire. He could not tell one woman he was sorry. He walked. He did not plan a route. His boots carried him past the last houses and into the trees. Massive redwoods rose around him, trunks wide as doors, branches blotting the sky. The quiet pressed in. Out here no one needed a briefing. Something moved between the trunks. A wolf stepped into the open. Old scars marked its gray coat. One ear was torn. It stopped and watched him, lean and still, neither afraid nor friendly. Sebastian froze. His hand drifted toward his side out of habit. He had no weapon. The wolf did not charge. It stood and studied him, the way he studied a room before entering. They held each other's gaze a long time. The wolf had taken its wounds and kept walking. It did not snarl or flinch. It simply endured. Sebastian lowered his hand. "I don't know how to say it," he told the animal. The words came easy now, because nothing was at stake. "I left because staying felt like dying slow. That's the truth. I never found a way to tell her without sounding like a report." The wolf's ears turned. Then it moved off into the shadows between the giant trunks and was gone. Sebastian stood alone. He had said the real thing out loud once. It had not killed him. The problem was never the woman or the door. The problem lived in him, and he could not fix it alone. He walked back toward town. He did not go to her apartment. He went to find a room to rent nearby, close enough to try again and again. If stiff words pushed her away, he would learn new ones. He would stay until he could speak plainly, even if it took a hundred failed attempts. For the first time in years, Sebastian had a mission he did not know how to complete. He signed for the room before he lost his nerve.