I patrol the catwalk, but there’s nothing to see in any direction, and there’s no sound except the rustling of leaves, the bleating of goats, and the buzz of insects. I wipe away the sweat on my face. My T-shirt is wet with sweat. And my anxiety is getting worse. I don’t want to be here, inside these walls. I don’t want my soldiers to be here. I want to get out. But that’s crazy. We’re safe here. What the fuck is wrong with me?
