La’an Hanes didn’t relax easily.

When her commanding officer insisted she take time off, she argued. When the order was made non-negotiable, she stewed. Now she stood at the edge of a crystalline pool atop Casperia’s highlands, arms crossed, surrounded by wellness tourists breathing deeply and humming in unison.

She hated it.

At least, at first.

The first two days were spent pacing her villa, picking apart security flaws in the local perimeter, and silently judging every meditation exercise with a tactical eye. But then, on the third day, she met him.

He was older — a retired MACO turned retreat facilitator — and though his spine curved slightly with age, his eyes were clear and sharp.

“You remind me of me,” he said simply, handing her a rock to place at the edge of the still pond. “You ever try letting the fight rest?”

She didn’t answer. But she returned the next day.

They didn’t talk much. They stacked stones, hiked a trail in silence, shared an occasional tea. But as the days passed, La’an began to understand what the silence offered: clarity.

Not weakness. Not distraction. Clarity.

By the end of the week, she was journaling quietly beside the same pool, eyes closed for longer than she’d ever admit. And on the final evening, she walked the winding trail alone, stopping only once to place a second stone beside her first.

Her thoughts were sharper now, but her heart was a touch lighter.

She wasn’t broken. Just recharged.