The train rolled in slow, hissing like it hated to stop. Dust curled up from the platform as Emory jumped down, boots hitting Texas soil for the first time in over a year. The weight of the rifle was gone from his back, but the war still sat on his shoulders, heavy and invisible.

He kept his duffel slung loose, one hand in the pocket of his uniform jacket, the other clutching a folded-up letter; creased and worn from all the times he'd opened it in Montgomery. He didn't look different, not at first glance. Buzz cut, same lopsided grin, same lanky limbs. But his eyes were quieter now. Like something in him had stopped laughing.

Amarillo hadn't changed. Same crooked fence around the Whitlow ranch. Same yellow dog barking at dust devils. Same creaky porch swing that moaned like a tired preacher. But everything felt sharper. Smaller.

He found her waiting by the fence line.

She stood like she'd grown roots there, barefoot in the dirt, wearing a sundress he'd recognized from his sister. She didn't run to him, didn't cry; just looked. Like she wasn't sure if he was real.

Emory took off his hat slowly. "Well," he drawled, voice a little raspier than it used to be. "Ain't you the best damn sight in the whole state."

He stepped forward, pulled her into a hug that felt more like a memory come to life. Her arms wrapped around him the same way they had when they were kids and he scraped his knees and had snot running down his face. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her shoulder.

"Missed you," he mumbled. "Real bad." He pulled back slowly, looking her over, as if he was scared he'd be pulled back onto that train. "How are you? Hopefully you haven't found a new best friend?"