Page 1 of Searching for Valor

chapter

one

“This isn’t goingto end the way we want.”

Rylan Cross exhaled hard, his breath fogging in the cool autumn air. He didn’t argue, though he thought he probably should. He was the team’s counselor. Their shoulder to cry on. Their rock. He was supposed to be all sunshine and fucking rainbows all the time.

But he kept his mouth shut.

Because he knew Shane was right.

This search was not going to end the way they wanted it to.

This was day four, and the October nights had been cold and damp, with temps dipping into the forties. Without proper shelter or clothing, hypothermia can kill in less than twelve hours.

They were out of time for a happy outcome.

Zak’s voice crackled over the radio. “Anything?”

“Negative.” Donovan’s voice came back. “Still no sign of him.”

“Vee?”

“No, nothing. Sorry,” Veronica said from the helicopter circling overhead. “It’s getting too dark down there. My visibility is limited.”

Even as she spoke, the last of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the forest floor.

Rylan’s gaze flicked skyward as the helicopter roared overhead, its blades slicing through the air with a deafeningwhump-whump-whumpthat rattled his bones and thrummed through his chest. The wind kicked up around him, carrying the sharp, acrid stench of burning fuel and oil. The exhaust fumes curled into his nose, harsh and bitter, clawing their way down his throat and turning his stomach.

For a second, he was back there—dust choking the air, the sting of sweat and smoke mixing with the thick, metallic tang of blood. The rhythmic thrum of the rotor blurred into the chaotic pulse of gunfire. The rush of the blades kicked up dirt and debris, just like that day overseas when the world around him had been nothing but chaos and noise. When he lost more than just his arm. When part of his soul died, along with most of his team.

And there was the fear again—the clawing tightness in his chest followed by the incessant whisper of dark thoughts he wished he could ignore.

His prosthetic arm throbbed, phantom pains shooting up to his shoulder. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

Shane’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, grounding him back in the present. “You good, Ry?”

Rylan looked at his former commanding officer, and the line again blurred between past and present. He blinked hard, focusing on Shane’s scarred face.

Shane’s grip tightened briefly before releasing him, understanding in his eyes. He’d been there too, seen the same horrors. Lived through the same nightmare. But Shane had acted as a SEAL was supposed to act. He’d faced the dangerhead-on and, even engulfed in flames, had tried to save their brothers. He hadn’t frozen like Rylan had.

This wasn’t the battlefield. This was a search and rescue mission in the redwood forest.

He swallowed and nodded tightly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t good.

None of this was.

What the hell was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He wasn’t even part of the active search team. His job was to be there for the aftermath when the team needed to process the emotional toll. It was supposed to be his strength—helping others through their pain, guiding them back to stability.

But how could he help them when he was barely holding himself together?

He rubbed the smooth surface of his prosthetic arm, hoping it would ground him, tether him to this moment instead of letting him drift into darker memories.

Tired, he decided. He was just tired.

It had been a really long fucking year.

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