Ethan's eyelids were heavy, as though sand had been poured over them. The world was distant—sounds muffled, light faint, like he floated somewhere between dreams and reality.
He felt something warm around his hand.
A voice—soft, trembling—echoed in the fog of his mind.
"…come back… please… come back to me…"
He wanted to answer.
He tried.
But nothing came out.
Still, that voice pulled him closer.
Closer to the surface.
He drifted again.
---
Camila didn't sleep.
She sat in a metal chair beside Ethan's cot as dawn seeped through the tent fabric. Her fingers were cold, but her grip on his hand was steady.
"You stubborn idiot," she whispered. "Don't scare us like that again."
Ethan didn't respond, but the slight twitch in his brow told her he wasn't gone. He was in there. Fighting.
A medic approached quietly. "You should rest, Martinez."
"I'm fine," she said immediately.
He gave her a sympathetic look. "You won't help him by collapsing."
She sighed, exhaustion written across her face, but she didn't move.
"Any updates?" she asked.
"He's stable for now," the medic said. "That's the best we can ask for."
Camila nodded.
Just then, her radio buzzed.
Sergeant Hale's voice came through: "Martinez. Meeting. Command tent. Now."
She glanced at Ethan, then back at the medic. "Watch him."
"I will."
Camila squeezed Ethan's hand once. "I'll be back."
Then she left the tent, boots dragging in the sand.
---
Three time zones away, Sofia stared at her phone long after the call with Camila had ended. Her food sat untouched on the table; her uniform lay crumpled on the floor. She hadn't changed. She hadn't slept.
But her heart—
Her heart felt alive again.
Because he responded. Even a little.
Because he heard her.
She pressed her hands together, whispering a silent thank you to whatever force let her voice reach him.
But she couldn't sit still anymore.
She picked up her phone and dialed the airline.
"Hi, I need to check flights to—" She paused, remembering the base location was confidential. "—the closest airport to Fort Leggett."
The agent typed. "Next available flight is tomorrow morning."
"I'll take it."
She didn't think twice.
As she ended the call, her hands shook—not from fear this time, but resolve.
She grabbed her backpack, pulling out her passport, spare clothes, a small folder of her culinary academy documents. She shoved them inside, heart pounding faster with every movement.
She needed to be closer.
She needed to wait where he'd return.
She needed to show him she wasn't running anymore.
Sofia stood in front of the mirror.
Her hair messy. Eyes red and swollen. Skin pale.
But she didn't care.
She whispered to her reflection:
"I'm coming for you, Ethan."
---
Camila stepped inside the command tent, still dusted from the night.
Sergeant Hale looked up. "Martinez. Sit."
She remained standing. "Sir, I'd rather—"
"Sit," he repeated, more firmly.
Camila exhaled sharply and dropped into the chair.
The room was quiet but tense. A map sprawled across the table, marked with red points from the night's ambush.
"We finally identified the hostile group," Hale said. "They were probing our defenses. Testing our response time."
Her jaw tightened. "Sir… is this going to happen again?"
"It's likely." Hale rubbed his forehead. "We're reinforcing patrols. But that's not why I called you."
Camila's stomach clenched.
"Ethan Bennett will be transferred," he said. "His condition requires better facilities. He'll be airlifted to the regional medical unit."
Relief washed through her so quickly she nearly sagged.
"When?" she asked.
"In about two hours."
Camila nodded slowly. "I want to go with him."
Hale gave her a long, unreadable look. "Protocol allows one escort."
That was all she needed.
"Thank you, sir."
She stood immediately.
But Hale's voice stopped her again.
"One more thing."
Camila paused.
Hale hesitated—a rare sign of emotion breaking through his disciplined exterior.
"You did well last night. You saved him."
Camila swallowed hard. "I… just did what anyone would do."
"No." Hale's eyes softened. "Not anyone. You."
Camila didn't know what to say, so she simply nodded and left the tent.
Outside, the morning sun burned bright across the desert horizon, and she let out a long breath.
Two hours.
She'd stay with him every second until then.
---
Ethan drifted again, but not into darkness.
Into memories.
Italy.
The scent of old churches and fresh pastries.
The echo of footsteps along cobblestone streets.
The way sunlight hit Sofia's hair in the marketplace.
The way she laughed as pigeons swarmed her gelato.
The way she held her breath when he kissed her the first time.
And then—
The moment she left.
The empty silence in Piazza Navona.
The boarding gate where he watched her disappear.
The heartbreak that pushed him into the military.
But the memory shifted—
To her voice from the phone.
Soft.
Shaking.
Begging him to return.
"I love you, Ethan. Come back to me."
His fingers twitched again.
He tried to open his eyes.
Just a little.
Light leaked through.
A shadow moved beside him.
Someone grabbed his hand—warm, firm.
Camila.
"You're fighting," she whispered. "Good."
He tried to speak her name, but nothing came out.
She squeezed his hand. "Sofia will call again soon. She's waiting. Don't let her down."
His pulse quickened.
Camila smiled through tears. "There you go. Fight harder."
The medic approached. "His vitals are improving. If this keeps up, he may wake within the next 24 hours."
Camila wiped her eyes, nodding.
"Wake up for her," she whispered. "Wake up for yourself."
---
Back home, Sofia stood at her airport gate hours later, backpack slung over her shoulder. She looked out the window at the runway lights blurring into sunrise.
Her stomach churned. Fear and hope tangled together inside her.
She didn't know what would happen.
She didn't know if he'd wake up today, tomorrow, or weeks from now.
But she knew one thing:
She wouldn't let him fight alone again.
The boarding call echoed.
She inhaled shakily.
"I'm coming," she whispered, gripping her ticket.
"For you."
---
In the medical tent, Ethan's fingers moved again—this time, more deliberate.
His breath hitched.
His eyelids fluttered.
Camila shot to her feet. "Ethan?"
The medic rushed over.
A faint sound escaped his lips. A groan. Small, but real.
Camila's heart leapt.
"He's waking up!"
The medic leaned over him. "Ethan, if you can hear me, follow my voice. Open your eyes."
A struggle.
A long, tense moment.
Then—slowly—
His eyes opened.
Not fully.
But enough to show a glimmer of life.
Camila covered her mouth, tears spilling. "Ethan…? Can you hear me?"
His lips parted.
A whisper escaped—weak, broken:
"…Sofia…?"
Camila let out a sob, half-laughing, half-crying.
"Yeah. Yeah, she's coming. Hold on."
The medic smiled. "He's responsive. He's truly waking."
Ethan's eyes drifted toward Camila, confusion and pain flickering across them.
But one thing was clear:
He was alive.
And he was fighting his way back.
For Sofia.
---
As the plane carrying Sofia lifted off the runway, her heart finally steadied.
Miles away, Ethan opened his eyes fully for the first time since the attack.
Two hearts moving toward each other
—separated by distance—
but drawn together by something deeper, undeniable.
Tomorrow would bring answers.
But for now—
Hope returned to both of them.