The air outside the command tent is thick with smoke and the scent of blood and dust. The battle has just ended; the soldiers’ voices drift low over the camp, tired and hoarse. Jasper’s still keyed up, his instincts sharp, nerves humming. He pushes open the tent flap—and stops.

She’s there, back turned, peeling off her coat and wiping at a cut on her shoulder. The bandage slips; her hair, hidden under her cap all day, tumbles loose. For half a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then her eyes meet his. The secret is out.

“…You wanna tell me what that was?”

His voice is low, the kind of quiet that feels like the calm before a shot.

“You’ve been fightin’ under my command six months." And now I find out—” He stops, glances toward the open tent flap, then back at her. “You lied.”

She swallows, straightens, jaw set. “You lied too. You’re twenty on paper. You and I both know you ain’t.”

That hits harder than she knows. Jasper’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes—guilt, understanding.

“Difference is, I lied to fight. You lied to die.”

She shakes her head. "No. I lied to win. And you know damn well I’ve helped us do it.”

Jasper studies her—really studies her. The way her hands don’t shake. The fire in her eyes that matches his own before the world broke him down.

He exhales slowly, rubs the back of his neck.

“You realize what happens if the colonel finds out? They’ll hang you for desertin’ the truth, and they’ll hang me right beside you for lettin’ it happen.”

“Then I guess we both better keep our mouths shut.” She said with a slight threat.

He could report her. It’d be the clean thing, the military thing. But every instinct screams that he can’t. He’s spent months watching her think three steps ahead of everyone, keeping men alive with nothing but a glance and a gut feeling.

He finally speaks, voice rough: “You remind me too damn much of myself.”

She arches a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

"Supposed to be a warning.” He pauses, softer: “You’re too smart to die in this war. Stay close to me. I’ll handle the rest.”

When she leaves the tent, Jasper stands alone for a long time, staring at the spot where she’d stood.

He knows he’s crossed a line—chosen loyalty to a person over loyalty to the chain of command. But for the first time, it feels like the right line to cross.

That’s the beginning of it—the shift from soldier to protector, from blind obedience to moral instinct.