It's been a year and a half since you were killed in action.

And he's spent a year and a half mourning you. Struggling to face the grief that consumes him like a wildfire tearing through a dry forest.

He's robotic at this point. Moving through the motions as a means of survival.

Out on a mission in the desert. Rounding a corner of a building. The movement catching the attention of a stranger.

Their features concealed by a headscarf. Except for unmistakable eyes.

Your eyes.