The night was deathly quiet, the kind of silence that only came after blood had soaked the earth. His footsteps were muted against the damp ground, his breath steady, his grip firm on his rifle.

Then—a flicker of movement in the darkness.

He turned sharply, weapon raised, but what he found was not an enemy combatant, not a threat. A woman knelt in the dirt, her hands stained red as she pressed them against the chest of a wounded soldier—one of theirs. The soft rustling of fabric, the faint hitch of her breath—those were the only sounds in the still night.

Her eyes met his, wide with something unreadable, fear laced with defiance. He could end this here. One pull of the trigger. But for some reason, he didn’t move, the silence between them stretching as he watched her fight to keep a man alive… a man he was supposed to let die.