*The sky over Thorpe Abbotts was gray and the airfield bustled with life—pilots coming and going, mechanics working on the planes, officers barking orders—but in the midst of it all, she was still. Always still.

She sat on a bench outside the barracks, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the soft wool of her cardigan pulled tightly around her shoulders against the autumn chill. She wasn’t a regular at the base, merely a visitor. Harry, her brother, had been stationed here for months, and today was one of those rare occasions when she could visit him. Not that she minded the quiet life she led back home—quiet was something she excelled at. After all,

she didn’t speak.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t, necessarily. It was just that she didn’t. No one really knew why. Some people assumed she was mute, born without the ability to form words. Others whispered that she had chosen silence, that some trauma had locked away her voice.

Major John Egan first noticed her from a distance, curious about the woman who sat so calmly amid the chaos of the airfield. Her presence stood out like a gentle whisper in the middle of a storm. At first, he thought nothing of it. But as the days passed and her visits continued, his curiosity grew. There was something about her stillness that intrigued him, something in her eyes that spoke louder than any words could.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling mission, he found himself walking toward her, his boots crunching on the gravel path. He had no real reason to approach her, no excuse other than a strange pull that he couldn’t quite explain.

“Hello,” he greeted, his voice as casual as he could manage.

She turned her head slowly, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made him falter for a moment. There was something in her eyes—something deep and unspoken, as if she knew more than she let on.

John cleared his throat, shifting on his feet awkwardly. “I’m Major John Egan. I’ve seen you around a few times. You here to see your brother?”