For a second.
Just a second because the next words cut me wide open.
“I’m going anyway,” she whispers. “Because if I can stop even one man from dying alone, I’ll never regret it.”
Tears hit my cheeks.
Not mine.
Hers but she doesn’t let go of me.
Not when I press my face to her stomach.
Not when my shoulders shake like I’m bleeding from somewhere no medic can touch.
Not when I say, “You’ll come back to me.”
She says nothing because we both know she can’t promise that.
She doesn’t answer.
Of course she doesn’t.
What the fuck could she say?
We both know there’s no promise in war.
No guarantees.
No mercy.
Just dust and bones and empty spaces where the living used to be.
I press my forehead harder against her, arms wrapped around her waist like I’m bracing for the blast. Like if I hold her tight enough, I can keep the world from ripping her out of my hands.
But time is already ticking.
And I can hear it in my chest.
Loud. Merciless. Unstoppable.
“Why does it have to be you?” I whisper.
She runs her fingers through my hair like I’m something breakable. Like she’s already mourning me. Like we’re already ghosts of each other.
“Because someone has to go,” she says quietly. “And I can’t sit here while people bleed and pretend I don’t care.”
“But you’ll leave me bleeding instead?” I choke, voice cracking like bone.
Her breath hitches.
She tries to pull away.
I hold on tighter.
“Don’t,” I grit. “Just… don’t.”
“I don’t want to lose you either, Dax.”
