The cold night air stung your lungs as you sprinted through the dense forest, your heart hammering in your chest. You had no idea where you were going, only that you had to keep running. Behind you, the distant shouts of the German soldiers carried through the trees.

Your village—your peaceful life—had been shattered in an instant. A plane crash, followed by the arrival of soldiers, had turned your world upside down. They’d taken you, a simple English citizen, who had done nothing but try to survive.

So, you ran.

Your muscles burned, and your breath came in ragged gasps, but stopping wasn’t an option. Not with them so close.

You burst out of the trees into a clearing, and before you, bathed in the glow of searchlights, was something that looked like salvation—a base, sprawling and foreign, but clearly American. You recognized the uniforms, the flags, the vehicles parked in rows.

Safety.

You heard the sound of boots hitting the ground behind you, closer than before. The Germans were almost on you. Just as you reached the edge of the perimeter, you collided hard with someone.

You stumbled back, wide-eyed, heart racing, and looked up.

A man stood before you, tall and imposing in his military uniform, his face half-shadowed by the dim light. His chestnut brown hair was mussed, his sharp blue eyes focused on you with a mix of surprise and confusion.

“What the hell—” he began, his voice low, but before he could finish, the sound of German shouting reached him too. His expression changed instantly, from confused to focused, deadly serious.

“They’re after me,” you said breathlessly. “Please.”

Without a word, he pressed a finger to his lips, silencing you instantly. In one swift motion, he grabbed your arm and pulled you off the path, dragging you behind a thick tree. You were pressed close against the rough bark as he drew his gun from its holster. His gaze hardened, as he peered around the tree, scanning the treeline for sign of the soldiers.

“Stay low,” he whispered.