So far, Jackson had been right. It had been a pretty painless ride down to Atlanta. The bike was the nicest he’d ever ridden. The Sentry people had been easygoing. And now, he could just surf the web and check out sports statistics until he felt like working on the AIDA hack. He could pretty much do whatever he’d wanted, only he had to maintain contact with Laurel’s work activity. For this purpose, he had a small box opened on his screen, which showed a remote view of her screen. Whatever was on her screen, he saw it. Which might have been his least favorite aspect so far.

He was used to surveillance, tailing a target around the city, tapping into clandestine conversations. But this felt different. Watching another security analyst at work, it felt almost treasonous.

When he got tired of his cubicle, and tired of watching her screen, which, for the last ten minutes had appeared mysteriously frozen, he decided to stretch his legs. Maybe head down to the break room for a nice cool glass of sweet tea. He could use the caffeine.

On his way down the hall he could hear the distinct sound of someone’s anguished sobs. He followed the sound to Laurel’s closed door, where he stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. He’d feel guilty just walking away. Yet, he wasn’t prepared to intrude just yet. The sobbing suddenly stopped, and the door opened to reveal the woman’s puffy, reddened face.

“Oh,” he said, expecting to see her flinch away. But she just stared at him with dead, glossy eyes. She was frozen. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged and almost said something. But then her legs seemed to give way, and she was suddenly retreating into her office and collapsing at her chair. Her breathing seemed quite shallow.

Matthias was still in the doorway. “Can I come in?”

She nodded as she leaned forward to her desk, tugging a few times at a box of tissues until she had a great big wad of them in her hand, the white wisps of it floating around her fingers like a sad little cloud.

“I’m alright,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “Just got some bad news. But I’m alright.”

“Can I get you anything? I was just on my way to the break room.”

“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. Wiped her cheeks. “I should probably just get back to work. Sittin’ here like a bump on a log all afternoon.” She blew her nose hard and the room filled with a wet, rattling sound. “Have you tried looking at the hack?”

Matthias just looked at her, the anguish she was in. It felt ridiculous to be talking about the hack. He wanted to reach over and hug the poor girl.

“Have you?” she asked, her breathing still shallow.

“You know what helps me? Breathing real slow, in deep breaths. Whenever I get nervous, or anxious. It helps.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He walked in, approaching her slowly. “Let’s do it together. Ready?” Matthias took in a deep breath and held it, waiting for her to do the same.

She didn’t.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“No, really, let’s do it. Take a big breath with me.” He inhaled again, this time with her.

He could see her shoulders elevate, finally, fully, her chest puffed out. He waited three seconds, and then exhaled slowly. She did the same.

They continued that way until her crying had ended, until her eyes stopped shifting around the room.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like shit. My friend just died.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” And then he removed it.

Laurel breathed in and out, slowly.

“How does your breathing feel?”

“Better,” she said.

“You were hyperventilating.”

“I know.”

“That happens to me, too.” Matthias backed off and inspected the rest of her office. “When I get nervous or whatever. I’ve got, uh . . . anxiety.”

“Me too. Generalized anxiety. Means I’m scared of everything.” She laughed very slightly and it was short lived. “What are you scared of?”

He could have said any sudden loud noises, unexpected knocks on the door, certain smells. But he really wasn’t scared of them. He was scared of the flashbacks they’d trigger.

It was too confusing to talk about, so he just kept looking dumbly at her filing cabinets. They were covered in little musical notation magnets. A quarter note here, half note there.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I’m like you,” he said. “Generalized.”

“Everything?”

He laughed. “Yeah, everything.”

“Well, look at us. Two little scaredy-cats.”

He slid over two of the magnets, creating a rising quartet of sixteenth notes.

“But you ride a bike,” she said. “You’re not scared of that.”

Matthias turned away from his composition, facing her. “How’d you know I ride?”

“You just have that look,” she said. “You know . . . The boots, pants, your bag. I’ve got a friend here that does. She rides in to work.”

“Have you ever ridden?”

No. I’m too scared to even sit on the back.”

“I’m scared of that too, actually.”

“What?” She smiled. “Well how is that possible?”

“I think it’s more of a control thing.”

“So you’re a control freak?”

“When it comes to something that goes 150 miles an hour? Yeah.”

“What about passenger jets? They go a lot faster and you sit in back of them.” Laurel’s chair had spun to face him, and she was leaning back now, her shoulders relaxed. “Didn’t you fly in from D.C.?”

“No, I rode.”

Her eyes brightened up. “All the way from Washington?”

“Yeah, I was actually taking part in a cross-country group ride for Vets.”

“Oh, cool.”

He smiled, then shrugged. “And then I made a little detour.”

“You served?” Laurel threw her ball of tissues in a wastebasket.

“Correct. Iraq, Afghanistan.”

She wiped her hands on her pants. “Sorry, I’m totally prying aren’t I?”

“No, its fine. I thought I was prying, you know, coming in here.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“You sure? Tell me to go at any time. I just hate the sound of a woman crying.”

“How about a man? You don’t mind it then?”

“Hm . . . Well, the guys I hang out with aren’t usually the crying types. Tough military guys, you know. Too tough to cry.” That was a lie. He’d heard the worst crying in his life, far too many times, back in the—

“How about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you too tough to cry?”

He thought for a moment. “No.”

Laurel grabbed a single tissue and wiped her nose with it.

Matthias said, “I cry when someone I love dies. I think that’s pretty natural.”

“Yeah.”

“The anxiety thing, though . . . That’s not as natural. I think it’s something we can work on and get better with.”

“You mean, like, therapy or something? I’ve never done that.”

“Or just taking some active steps. I meditate. It’s basically like what we just did. Breathing exercises.”

“That helps your anxiety?”

“Yeah,” said Matthias. “It does.”

“Did you always have that anxiety?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you had it even before the Army?”

“Uh, well . . . No.” It was tough. He’d never actually told anyone outside of his closest friends. But here was this nice young lady, who’d just opened herself up to him, exposed her rawest emotion.

She was shaking her head. “I couldn’t even imagine what it’s like over there.”

Matthias gathered up the courage, and just said it. “I have PTSD.”

And she hardly reacted in any perceptible way, as if he’d just said his name or described his favorite band. There was no sudden recoil or look of horror. Instead, she said, “I have friends who came back. It’s terrible.”

“I’m doing alright,” he said. “With the uh . . .”

“The breathing exercises?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So . . .”

She smiled. “We really should start talking about the project.”

“You sure?”

Laurel stood from her chair. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She lifted her arms and began stretching while Matthias tried not to ogle her body. She was curvaceous in all of his favorite places. Everything he’d needed to be sufficiently distracted from a mission.

“Maybe we should go for a walk,” she said. “It’s not too hot out.”

It was all the same to Matthias. Her office was suddenly incredibly warm.