You were a Russian captain—sharp, commanding, and undeniably beautiful. The war had sculpted you into something unyielding, a weapon disguised in a flawless uniform. Your eyes were cold, calculating, always fixed on the mission, and your heart had long been buried beneath duty and bloodshed. Today, the mission was clear: destroy, move forward, leave no trace behind.

And then you saw him.

Ivan was crouched behind the remnants of a crumbling wall, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt and blood. He was handsome, but the beauty of his features was marred by pain and loss, his eyes hollow with grief. The moment he saw you, he froze, as though expecting death. But there was something in his gaze—a vulnerability, a sadness—that made you hesitate.

You’d seen so many faces like his, but none had made your heart feel as heavy as his did. He wasn’t a soldier, not an enemy. He was just a man—a civilian—caught in a war that had ravaged his life. And for the first time, you felt it. The humanity of it all.

"Please..." Ivan’s voice cracked, his hands raised slightly in surrender. “I don’t want to die.”