He returned the Bridge Four salute to them all, tapping his wrists together.

The fifty-odd Windrunners turned and streaked back down. Below, light flashed in a circle around the Oathgate, making an entire battalion of troops vanish. They’d learned that how much Stormlight was expended for a transfer depended on the Radiant operating the device—the more experienced the Radiant, the less Stormlight required. Jasnah was probably operating today; she could do things with her powers that were well beyond the rest of them. Though she didn’t show it off, she’d plainly sworn the Fourth Ideal. The one Kaladin would never reach.

“They’re all going away,” Syl said softly, landing on his shoulder.

“Not all of them,” Kaladin said. “Around twenty will stay to guard the tower.”

“But none of our friends.”

It was true. All the former members of Bridge Four were going with Dalinar. Maybe Rlain would stay behind, and work on the fields? Though he often chose to go with the Windrunner support staff, to help out there, with Dabbid and a few squire hopefuls.

Watching them all fly off, it was impossible not to feel so very alone.

Remember the peace you have felt this last week, Kaladin thought. Don’t be sorry for yourself. Be excited for the new path forward you’re making.

The thoughts didn’t work; it still hurt to see them all leave. Hurt to know Shallan and Adolin had gone off to Shadesmar without him. He had his parents and his new brother, and he appreciated that. But the men and women of Bridge Four had become equally important to him.

That part of his life was over. Best not to dwell on it. Kaladin returned to the exam room. Hawin was waiting, so he sent her for the next patient.

He settled into a rhythm, seeing patients, occasionally sticking his head into the next exam room to ask his father for advice on a diagnosis or remedy. He dealt with an unusual number of coughs. Apparently there was something moving through the tower—a sickness that left people with mucus in their lungs and an overall feeling of aches. He’d never encountered anything like it. His father had been tracking it though, and said that Kharbranthian surgeons reported it wasn’t deadly. A plague from the West that, when all was said and done, didn’t live up to its reputation. The sickness barely attracted any plaguespren—though there didn’t seem to be many around the tower to attract, so that would be part of it.

He recommended lots of rest, fluids, and handwashing. The day stretched long, and the patients slowed to a trickle. One woman stood out to him. She was a refugee, and while getting treated for her coughs, she asked if Kaladin had seen her uncle. She’d heard of someone matching his description arriving in Hearthstone immediately before the evacuation.

Kaladin had her wait and went looking for his father. Lirin’s exam room was empty, but Hesina’s voice rose from the waiting room, so Kaladin walked out to ask her about the refugee’s uncle.

Right before he arrived, Kaladin heard a familiar voice that made him freeze in place.

“—always been like this,” the gruff voice said. “Been clean for … what, six months now? Storm me. Six months. That’s something. Can’t stand the battle though, not any longer. It’s gotten inside me, see. Itches at my brain.”

Kaladin burst into the waiting room to find Teft chatting with his mother. The older man was out of uniform, wearing common trousers and shirt, his grey beard trimmed. Not as short as an ardent’s beard, but not distinctively long either. There was no sign of his spren, Phendorana, though she generally preferred to hide from sight.

“Teft?” Kaladin said. “You were mobilized. Why aren’t you with everyone else?”

“Can’t go,” Teft said. “Too much wrong with my brain. Went and spoke to the Blackthorn, and he said it would be a good idea for me to step down.”

“You … Teft, you’re doing better. You have no reason to step down from duty.”

Teft shrugged. “Felt like it was time. Got a bit of a cough too. And an ache in my knee, even when there aren’t storms. War’s for young kids, not old dried-up pieces of bark.”

Hesina cocked her head, seeming confused—but Syl landed on Kaladin’s shoulder and gasped at seeing Teft, then clapped excitedly.

“Rock is gone,” Teft said, “and Moash … Moash is worse than gone. Sigzil needs to lead the rest of them, without me being baggage to bother him. You and I were the start of this though. Figure we ought to stick together.”

“Teft,” Kaladin said softer, stepping forward. “You can’t follow me here.”

Teft lifted his chin, defiant.

“I order you to go back to duty,” Kaladin said.

“Oh? Orders? You ain’t got knots on your shoulder now, lad. You can’t order me to do anything.” He sat down in a waiting room chair, folding his arms. “I feel sick. Not right in the head. Nobody can argue that ain’t so.”

Kaladin looked to his mother, feeling helpless.

She shrugged. “You shouldn’t force someone into war, Kaladin. Not unless you want to be like Amaram.”

“You’re taking Teft’s side?” Kaladin asked.

“Lad,” Teft said softly, “you ain’t the only one with a mind full of horrors. You ain’t the only one whose hands shake now and then, thinking of it all. I need a rest too. That’s Kelek’s own truth.”

He was exaggerating. Kaladin knew he was. The man—while prone to addictive and self-destructive behavior—was not battle shocked. That wasn’t something you could easily prove, however. Especially when the man in question was as obstinate as Teft.

Teft unfolded his arms, then folded them again, as if to make the gesture more firmly. His clothing was neat and clean, but there was always something a little frayed about Teft. You got the sense that the uniform never quite fit him, as if Teft was half a size between standard measurements.

That said, he was—to his core—a military man. If there was one thing a good sergeant knew, it was to never let your officer go into an unknown situation alone. Who knew what trouble a lighteyes would get into without his common sense tagging along? Teft took ideas like that to heart. And Kaladin knew, meeting Teft’s eyes, that the man was never going to budge.

“Fine,” Kaladin said.

Teft leaped to his feet, gave Kaladin’s mother a little salute, then fell into step behind Kaladin as they walked toward the exam room.

“So, what are we doing?” Teft asked.

“You said you wanted a diagnosis,” Kaladin said, stopping outside the door.

“Nah. Know I’m crazy already. You going to poke at me until I snap? Skip that part. What are we doing today? Binding wounds?”

Kaladin gave him a level stare. Teft just stared back, stubborn as a storm. Well, Kaladin had trained them all as surgeon’s assistants, with knowledge of basic field medicine. He could do worse than Teft as an aide.

It didn’t seem like he had a choice either way. That should have frustrated him. Instead he found himself feeling warm. They weren’t all gone.

“Thank you, Teft,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have given up so much. But … thank you.”

Teft nodded.

“There is a refugee woman here looking for her uncle,” Kaladin said. “Shall we see if we can track him down for her?”