Nate'd thought about singing. He hadn't had the heart for it then, maybe that was a failing, too.

He'd thought about fighting, but he was tired of being a soldier.

He'd wanted to help, and he hadn't cared about the risk. Or maybe he had, maybe, in a way, Cecil was right to worry, but...

Nate shut his eyes against tears. Swallowed hard, and held his breath. Hearing someone say it out loud — hearing Cecil say it, that Nate was afraid, not a passive witness to the terror of others, but a participant, the same as all the rest—

Maybe he wasn't as settled in this third chance at life as he'd hoped himself to be. Shaking his head, Nate struggled again to find words. Where was the condemnation? For arrogance, if nothing else, hadn't he earned it?

Lightheadedness forced an inhale. He cracked open his eyes, I—

Cecil claimed fear and Nate's racing thoughts ran the trail of hypotheticals where their positions were reversed. Where Cecil was the regimental, where Nate had done no wrong. But it was easy to forgive. He knew Cecil, maybe not in every way, but enough — was certain they were a good folk. That their mistakes or secret shames wouldn't undo that in Nate's eyes.

With Nate, though, the situation was different. He was — different. Cecil didn't know the whole of him and it felt shameful, sinful even, to have tricked them into thinking Nate was better than he was.

The idea of accepting forgiveness, or even abstinence from judgement, tugged at something angry deep inside. He struggled to tamp it down. Jaw clenched.

Was that arrogance, too?

Maybe pride was Nate's real flaw. Some crippled ugly thing that had no right to stand tall like it did in moments of such immense shortcoming.