“Don’t. Come on, Paps, tonight’s for celebrating.”

“No, I need to talk to you about this. I know what war is. I know what’s coming for my boys and you don’t know how it…” He looked away abruptly and reached in his back pocket for his handkerchief. “Well, damn it all, look at me now. I swear to goodness, Kennet, I can’t stop crying lately.”

Kennet touched his shoulder. “You can tell me, Paps. I won’t think less of you for letting your feelings show while you’re telling. In fact, it only makes me admire you more.”

See, Astrid taught me that.

Emil wiped his eyes. “Gullgosse, I worry so much about you, I think sometimes I’ll go out of my mind.”

“We’ll be all right,” Kennet said lamely.

“I don’t mean all three of you. I mean, yes, all three of you. But I worry most about you.”

“Me?”

“You’re not built for war. I don’t say that as an insult. I know you’re a fine soldier and you’ll do what’s expected of you. I mean your soul isn’t made to process war. Nalle has his principles to sustain him. Minor will get by on sheer personality. But you? You were always the one who liked to sort and label and name everything. This was this. That followed this. If this, then that. You like rules to define the edges of your life. You like people to behave within those rules. And war blows all those things to shit. Absolute shit. You’ll see people doing abhorrent, unspeakable things. You’ll find yourself doing things that go against every rule, every standard, every ethic you ever held. War rubs against the very grain of who you are, and some men just can’t…”

He pressed the back of his fist against his mouth a moment. “I saw it happen with my brother when we got home.”

“I know, Paps.”

“You don’t. Nyck couldn’t shake it off. Couldn’t come back. Couldn’t stop fighting. Couldn’t reconcile who he’d been before the war with everything he did and saw in France. He couldn’t process it. He had no construct between the soldier and the man. That’s what worries me most about you.”

“Look, I’m his namesake but I’m not him,” Kennet said gently.

“I know, gullgosse. I won’t ask you to promise to be careful. That’s a given. I want you to promise to take care of yourself. To separate your self from the soldier. You like rules. Promise me you’ll remember that war breaks all of them. That when you find yourself doing something that would be considered unforgivable in peacetime, you remember you’re not living by those rules. And you forgive yourself.”