"Do you still feel you don't need counselling?" he asked.

Amelia nodded resolutely. "I don't have shell-shock, Sir. I just get a bit antsy, with all the waiting around."

The old man considered this for a moment, then accepted it. "Very well, then."

He then said something that would ring in Amelia's head for a while after. "But just so you know, there is no shame in it. 'Civilian' or not, those of us who live in the shadow of Gawr are forever at war. You wouldn't be the only one."

Amelia thought about those words as she walked home. She hated that metaphor — war. It wasn't a war. It was pest control. She didn't sign up for the Coast Guard to be a soldier. She wanted to fly planes, and she wanted to help people. And then Gawr attacked, and now she had to be some kind of hero.

When she still had dreams, they had often taken her back to that first phone call. The following events would twist in all kinds of ways, from nightmarish to confusing to painfully banal, but the first few words were always the same. We're scrambling all pilots. Report to base. Gawr has surfaced.