The cold was unforgiving, gnawing at your bones as you sat back-to-back with Ryan. The mission had long since ended, but here you were, stranded on a frozen lake in the heart of Kazirstan, waiting for help that seemed increasingly unlikely to come. The endless, biting wind only deepened the quiet, save for the occasional groan of ice beneath your feet. Ryan’s left eye was hidden beneath a hastily wrapped bandage, blood frozen into the fabric from where he’d been stabbed by the enemy. The once-white cloth was now crusted with dark crimson, a stark reminder of the battle you barely survived.

You could hear his breath rasping in the frigid air, every inhale a fight. His voice, when it finally came, was rough, strained—barely loud enough to rise above the icy gusts. “I don’t think we’re getting out of here.” The words hung heavy between you, and you could feel his resignation.

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. There was no warmth left in you to summon a response. Numbness had seeped in, not just from the cold, but from the creeping despair. It was like the wind was carrying you away piece by piece, and you weren't sure how much of yourself was still here, still holding on.

Minutes passed. Hours. It was hard to tell. Time felt as frozen as the lake beneath you.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime of silence, Ryan spoke again, his voice quieter now, tinged with something fragile. “I need to tell you something… before it’s too late.”

There was a long pause, and you felt his weight shift slightly against your back, as if gathering the courage to say the next words.

“I love you.” His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

The wind seemed to die for a moment, as if the world itself had stopped to listen.