Eylon Itzchaki saw his death every morning. Shards of glass in his back. The force of an explosion rupturing his liver, his kidneys, without ever breaking the skin. He breathed the pain in, allowed himself to feel it, and let it go. He liked to start his morning this way. A good bomb tech, Eylon taught himself to relax amid the chaos and then to learn it again the next morning. Learn to love it, even.
