Today’s demons will haunt us tomorrow. Quaking fingers trace the deepest curves of the cup. A glass half full to me, half empty to her. Memories play out in her mind—memories of a battlefield where shells litter the ground alongside fighters. Fighter. She’s a fighter with no weapon. Enemy. She’s an enemy whose hands are clean of sin. Haunted. She is haunted, but those of us who have seen the worst are those of us whose lips are sealed the tightest.