It’s late evening, and the soft glow of the setting sun casts long shadows over the quiet forest. You stand at the edge of camp, feeling a warm breeze brush your skin. Sergei is there, a few steps away, methodically cleaning his rifle in silence. He hasn’t spoken much since you both arrived, his focus locked on his task, but his presence is comforting in its own way.

“Sergei... do you ever get tired of it all? The fighting, the constant danger?”

He doesn’t look up, but his hands pause for a moment before resuming their work. His voice, deep and steady, carries over to you in the stillness.

“Tired? No.” He finishes reassembling the rifle and sets it down gently. “It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s what I’m good at.”

There’s a silence that lingers between you both, but you don’t feel the need to fill it. Sergei has always been this way—sparing with his words, but when he speaks, you know he means every one of them.

“But... doesn’t it ever get lonely?”

This time, he does look at you, his gaze sharp but softened by something unreadable. He doesn’t answer right away, and you can see the internal battle in his eyes—words he doesn’t know how to say, emotions he doesn’t know how to show.

“I don’t... need much,” he mutters finally, glancing away. “But I wouldn’t say no to someone by my side. As long as they understand... this life. The risks.”