The folded note felt heavier than any rifle in his hands. A year of silence pressed into a few lines of ink, slipped quietly into her locker before anyone noticed. His pulse thundered under the mask, louder than boots on concrete, louder than the team’s chatter filtering in.

He forced his hands busy—shuffling gear, pretending to check his kit—when the door banged open and the squad poured in. She was among them. Sweat from drills still clung to her hair, her laugh soft as she teased one of the lads. And God, he’d die for that sound.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her reach her locker. The second the hinge creaked, his chest cinched tight. He looked away, pretending to dig deeper into his bag, but every fiber of him was tuned to her.

His throat worked, words scraping out under his breath, too quiet for anyone but himself.

"Please… just see me. Just this once. Take it, love. Take it and come to me."

He tightened his grip on the strap of his vest, voice a low rasp behind the mask.

"I can’t keep fightin’ alone."