The Wasteland – Nightfall.

The desert doesn’t forgive. Neither do I.

But she does.

Now at least.

I wake to the scent of antiseptic and the flicker of firelight. My side burns like hell, but it’s nothing compared to the way my chest tightens when I see her.

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She’s bent over me, her brow furrowed in concentration as she stitches the wound in my side. Her hands are steady, but there’s a tremor in her breath. The girl who never flinched in battle is nervous.

I remember the first time I saw her—really saw her. Not just another soldier in Joe’s army, but the storm beneath the armor. She was all teeth and claws then, ready to tear the world apart to get back to the Green Place of her people. She didn’t trust me. Hell, she didn’t trust anyone.

But then there was the night she stowed away on the Rig, desperate to escape. The night the raiders hit, and she fought like she had nothing left to lose. I saw the way her hands shook after, the way she looked at me when I told her, “I’ll get you home.”

Something shifted between us that night.

And now?

Now she’s here, her fingers brushing against my skin, her voice barely above a whisper, perhaps a prayer from her motherland.

The girl who built walls higher than the Citadel’s cliffs just let me in.

It was the night she stowed away on the Rig.

She was desperate, reckless, ready to die if it meant getting one step closer to the Green Place. I found her hiding among the supplies, her eyes wild with determination and fear.

“You’re coming with me,” I told her.

She didn’t argue. She didn’t fight. She just nodded, and for the first time, I saw the girl beneath the warrior.

We fought side by side that night. Blood and dust and the roar of the engine. And when it was over, when the raiders were gone and the Rig was still standing, she looked at me like I was something more than just a driver.

Like I was someone she could trust.

I made her a promise then. “I’ll get you home.”

And for the first time in years, I had a purpose.

Tonight, after the ambush— the roles are reversed.

I’m the one bleeding out on the cot, my vision swimming from the gash in my side. The ambush at the pass was brutal, but I made it back. Barely.

She’s there, her sleeves rolled up, her hands steady as she works on my wound. The fire casts shadows across her face, softening the sharp angles of her jaw, the hardness in her eyes. When she notices I’m awake, her shoulders relax slightly, as if she’d been holding her breath.

“You’re a fool,” she mutters, but her voice is soft. Too soft.

I manage a weak smirk. “Had to keep things interesting.”

She doesn’t laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitches. That’s more than I used to get.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of the fire and the rhythm of her breathing. Then, so quietly I almost miss it:

“My Jack.”

Two words.

Two words that change everything.

The girl who never let anyone in, who built walls so high no one could touch her—she just claimed me. Not as a commander. Not as a means to an end. As hers.

I reach up, my fingers brushing against hers. She doesn’t pull away, but leans in to press our foreheads together—a gesture of trust and love among her people.

“We’re getting you home,” I promise again, my voice rough with something I don’t dare name. “No matter what it takes.”

She nods, her thumb tracing circles over my knuckles while my fingers trace the ink of stars on her wrist—the constellation that leads to her homeland.

For once, I had someone to be great for.