The engines cough over the dirt, too loud, too steady. Every sound feels wrong. Like we’re on rails leading straight into hell.
The horizon won’t sit still. Heat mirages twist the road, blur the distance, turn rubble into silhouettes that vanish when you blink.
I blink too slow and when I open my eyes, nothing’s changed. Still quiet. Still waiting.
Leo’s hand goes up from the turret. Flat palm. Stop.
The convoy grinds to a halt.
Boots scrape inside the MRAP, rifles cock, straps pulled tight. Nobody speaks. Not even Reese.
It’s the kind of silence that tastes metallic. Like blood before it spills.
I scan left. A school—what’s left of it. Roof half caved, chalkboards visible through the holes like ghosts of lessons nobody remembers. Right side, a wall of stone and cloth, patched together by hands too small for the bricks. Nothing moves.
And that’s the problem.
Too still.
Too staged.
The rookie—Keller—murmurs something, too quiet to catch. A prayer, maybe. He looks green, but his rifle’s tight against his chest like he’s welded to it.
“Clear?” Leo’s voice cracks through comms.
Static.
“Repeat—are we clear?”
No answer.
My grip clenches on the rifle until the tendons in my hand burn.
I scan the rooftops again.
Shadows.
Antennas.
A flutter of cloth in the heat—just laundry, or maybe not.
Reese taps his thigh twice.
Tension.
Confirmed.
The convoy doesn’t move.
Nobody breathes too loud.
It’s like standing at the edge of a minefield, knowing the next step isn’t yours to control and in my head—her again.
Always her.
“You’ll leave again.”
“You’ll break me all over again.”
