Ethan's unit arrived at their destination under a scorching sun that burned through the horizon like a blade. The landscape was harsh—sand, wind, distant mountains, and a silence that felt unnatural.
"Welcome to your new home," a senior officer muttered as they stepped off the transport.
Ethan felt the heat immediately, thick and raw. Sweat ran down his spine beneath the heavy gear.
Camila walked beside him, shielding her eyes. "I miss the base already," she muttered.
He almost smiled. "Give it a day. You'll miss cold showers too."
Camila nudged him lightly. "Stay close, okay?"
"Always."
But beneath the banter, fear lingered—the quiet kind, settling under the skin, waiting.
They were here for a peacekeeping mission, but recent intelligence hinted at instability. Rumors of insurgent movements. Unexpected attacks in nearby zones. Nothing official, nothing confirmed, but the air felt charged.
Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
---
Back in the city, Sofia could not stop checking her phone—even in the middle of academy lectures. Even during practice drills. Even when she should have been sleeping.
Every buzz made her jump.
Every silence made her spiral.
One evening, after nearly slicing her finger during a knife technique exercise because her hands were shaking, her instructor—a stern, sharp-eyed woman—pulled her aside.
"Romano," she said calmly, "what's going on?"
Sofia swallowed. "Nothing, Chef."
Chef didn't blink. "You're lying."
Sofia's shoulders slumped. "It's just… someone I care about is deployed."
Her instructor's expression softened by only a fraction.
"Someone you love?"
Sofia hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Do they know?"
"Yes."
"Good." The chef's voice grew firm again. "Then don't let fear sabotage the opportunities you are working for. Honor them by succeeding, not falling apart."
Sofia blinked back unexpected tears.
"Yes, Chef."
"Good. Now breathe. And again."
And Sofia did.
But the fear didn't disappear.
It stayed, a constant whisper.
---
Ethan's days quickly settled into a grueling pattern—patrols, surveillance, reports, drills, more patrols.
Every morning he woke before dawn.
Every night he fell into his cot exhausted.
And every spare moment—every single one—he pulled out his notebook and wrote to Sofia. Sometimes two sentences. Sometimes half a page. Sometimes nothing but a promise:
I'm okay.
I'm thinking of you.
I'll be home.
He didn't know when letters would reach her—or if they even would.
But writing kept him anchored.
Camila noticed.
"You write to her a lot," she said one evening while they sat cleaning equipment.
"It helps."
"It helps you," she corrected gently. "But does it help her?"
Ethan paused.
"She deserves honesty," Camila continued. "Not just reassurances."
"I don't want to scare her."
"You don't have to tell her everything," Camila said softly. "Just enough to keep her close."
Ethan stared at the desert horizon.
"I can't lose her again."
"You won't," Camila said firmly.
But deep down, both of them knew something was shifting.
Tension in the air.
More patrols.
More warnings from command.
Something big was brewing.
---
The shift came suddenly.
Just past midnight, alarms blared through the camp. Soldiers jumped from their cots. Boots hit the ground. Radios crackled with urgency.
Ethan grabbed his gear instinctively.
"What's happening?" he shouted.
Camila joined him, fully armed. "Perimeter breach. Unknown hostiles."
His blood ran cold.
This wasn't routine.
"Where?" he asked.
"Sector Three."
Sector Three—one of the patrol paths he'd walked just yesterday.
"Move!" the squad leader barked.
The night exploded into motion—boots pounding, weapons loaded, the hum of danger vibrating through the air. Ethan's pulse spiked as they raced toward the perimeter.
Distant gunfire echoed.
Camila swore under her breath. "It's worse than a breach."
Ethan didn't hesitate. "Let's go."
They moved as a unit, training kicking in.
Fear fell away.
Instinct took over.
But beneath it all, one thought pulsed inside Ethan's chest:
If anything happens, Sofia will never know the last words I wanted to say.
---
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Sofia woke with her heart pounding.
No reason.
No noise.
No dream she could remember.
Just a cold wave of dread washing over her.
She checked her phone.
Nothing.
She sat up, breath shaking, fingers gripping the sheets.
"Ethan…" she whispered into the darkness. "Please be alright."
But the fear didn't fade.
It grew.
---
Back in Sector Three, Ethan's team reached the breach point—barbed wire torn open, sand disturbed.
"Eyes up," the squad leader ordered.
Camila scanned the perimeter. "Tracks," she whispered. "Fresh."
Ethan crouched, inspecting the ground. "How many?"
Camila's voice dropped. "At least six."
A low thud echoed in the distance—too deep to be footsteps.
Ethan looked up sharply.
"Did you hear—"
The explosion cut him off.
A fireball erupted near the watchtower, shaking the ground, throwing sand into the air. Ethan was knocked backward, the impact slamming into his ribs. His ears rang violently.
Camila grabbed him. "Ethan!"
"I'm fine," he gasped, pushing up. "We need cover!"
More gunfire.
More explosions.
Radio static screaming orders.
This was no small breach.
This was an ambush.
Camila pulled him behind a barrier as bullets tore through the sand.
"We hold!" the squad leader shouted. "No one falls back without command!"
Ethan peeked out, fired deliberately, breathing hard. The night was chaos—muzzle flashes, shouting, explosions lighting up the horizon.
And in the middle of the storm, he thought of her.
I promised I'd come back.
Another explosion.
Another shockwave.
Camila grabbed his vest, pulling him away from falling debris.
"Stay with me!" she yelled.
"I'm here!"
But the world spun.
The ringing in his ears intensified.
His vision blurred for a moment.
Just long enough.
A blast landed close. Too close.
The ground lifted beneath him.
His body flew backward.
His head struck something hard.
His vision went white.
Camila screamed his name—but he didn't hear it.
Everything went silent.
Then dark.
---
At that same moment, across the world, right as Ethan hit the ground, Sofia jolted awake again in her apartment.
This time she knew.
Her chest felt crushed.
Her breath vanished.
Her vision blurred.
She grabbed her phone, hands shaking violently.
She didn't know why.
She didn't know how.
But she whispered the same words again and again, voice cracking:
"Ethan… Ethan… please answer… please…"
The night consumed her fear, swallowing her voice as tears streamed down her face.
And far away, on a battlefield of sand and fire—
Ethan did not answer.