"So it doesn't matter whether he's painted neon, Haz. We're all walking targets. We're all going to suffer in some way or another," and they should have been harsh words. Especially coming from his dad —especially coming from the person he'd look to first —always first— for reassurance; for stability. For support. His dad was his pillar. His rock. His support. It was reassuring in a way. Every word James spoke was truth. "But we're not ever letting you do it on your own. If we are to suffer, and we will, for that is the truth of war. We will suffer together." It shouldn't have been as calming as it was. It shouldn't have settled his racing heart. Shouldn't have raised the hairs on his arms the way it did. Shouldn't have set him at peace. 