It takes even longer than the minutes the memory lasts to come out of that, because first Soldat has to relive some throat-slitting of their own. Then because when the memory malfunction clears away, there's nothing left in their head to deal with either memory, there's nothing at all. They come to almost an hour later, crouched in the snow and shivering with both arms wrapped around themselves. Even a self-hug, they realize with a twitch to free themselves, feels like confinement. They're just lucky they're on the tail end of their 0500 patrol, so it's still too early for many people to be out and about, and they're on the largely-deserted path back from the armory, so no one stumbled on them.

The opal is on the ground, melted through the snow with the heat of their flesh palm, looking balefully up at them.

A check to the tablet shows that they're late to visit Misty. She's going to worry. She's going to. She's.

It's another ten minutes of broken mental loop before they manage to creakily push to their feet.

Christ.

They pick the opal up with metal fingers, wrap it in the usual scrap of fabric, but don't do it the service of putting it into a pocket. They'd crush it, but only with Misty's permission. They go straight to her house and knock like usual, but their expression isn't the polite neutral or small smile of usual, it's grimly blank, because anything else will hurt her. Or them. Probably both.