The girl woke with a start, disoriented. It took her a moment to remember where she was. A cabin in the foothills of the Rockies, half a world from a home that no longer belonged to her.
At sixteen, Hanah was legally an adult, but that mattered little. When her pregnancy had started showing, she had been ousted from the Medical Institute for a "moral misdemeanor.". Her father had not allowed her to return home. Instead, he had given her a few thousand marks and told her to head to North America, so that she could "blend in" until she was married.
She recognized now that going home would have destroyed her father's political career. He had been rising with every election, and might even become a regional governor if things continued. North America was at the edge of the Meridian Leagues' managed territories and was heavily disputed. Her father had just wanted her far away. Work was hard to come by at the more developed coast, so she had headed west towards the war-torn region of the continent where regulations were relaxed, and support jobs for the military existed in abundance.
Somewhere close, maybe the gullies below, maybe farther, a shell exploded, and the ground vibrated with its thunder. Artillery. Gunfire. The sounds rolled through the foothills in low, uneven echoes. Her stomach tightened sharply, and she gasped. She pressed her hands to the floor, panic rising.
"Hanah?"
A voice, gentle, familiar, and steady, came from the doorway. Lizzy, a girl her age, whom she had met months ago while scavenging for work, knelt beside her. "You okay?"
She shook her head. "No… the baby…"
Lizzy cursed softly. "It's alright. We can handle this. Just breathe. You've got this." She moved quickly across the room as another tremor rolled through the cabin, the distant boom following like a pulse. Wild roses pressed against the fence outside, their thorns clutching rusted iron and earth. Hannah clenched her jaw, gripping the floor as another sharp wave of pain tore through her. Panic clawed at her chest, but she forced herself to focus. The baby was coming now. Her breath came in ragged bursts. Another wave of pain slammed through her, forcing her head back against the wall behind her. Her hands pressed into the floor, slick with sweat, as the cabin seemed to shrink around her.
Lizzy's hands were steady on her shoulders. "Push with me," she urged, her voice calm but insistent. "You can do this. Just breathe."
Time passed in fragments; each wave of pain was sharper than the last. At one point, she looked down and was shocked by the blood, but instinct told her it was normal that she would be okay.
Finally, in the early light of dawn, a cry pierced the air. Hannah's vision blurred with tears, exhaustion, relief, and awe mingling as Lizzy held the newborn close.
It was a boy. Pale, wrinkled, but strong. Hannah's heart clenched. For a moment, all fear, all distance from home, all the war rumbling in the foothills — it faded.
"Lizzy…" she whispered. "Verik," she continued, naming the boy. The name reminded her of a boy in uniform she had once known, whose infrequent letters had been filled with optimistic words about her schooling and Europe, and each less about himself than the last. She hadn't told him she was pregnant, that she had been forced from school and the continent. She had always asked where he was, when they could be reunited, but the answers came shrouded in the black ink of the censors or not at all. By the time she was ready to tell him, it was too late. His Identity Tags had been sent to her in the mail as his only listed kin, with a half-hearted apology and the promise that his death had meant something.
Hannah's arms shook, her body spent. She felt herself slipping, but she reached out to touch her son once, feeling the small, fierce heartbeat beneath her fingers. The world beyond the cabin — the distant gunfire, the Meridian's reach, the uncertain future — pressed in again. But inside this small, dim room, a new life had begun.
Lizzy knew her friend was dying. She had to get the infant somewhere safe, somewhere he could be cared for. But she couldn't bring herself to take him yet — not until Hannah was truly gone. Somewhere, in the foothills beyond the gunfire, there were those who could raise him, train him, keep him alive — the kind of people who had a place for a boy like this in a world that would otherwise discard him as it had his parents.
It didn't take long. Hannah had already been too far gone. The sounds of battle had quieted, drifting farther away. Lizzy bundled the boy, "Verik," she corrected herself, in a clean blanket and tucked him into her arms. Light crept through the cabin, brightening it with every passing moment. She would have to move quickly if she was going to slip beyond the foothills, into a place she wasn't allowed to be. Lizzy stepped carefully to the door. The foothills stretched before her, rugged and shadowed, the early light painting the rocks and trees in pale gray. Every crackle of brush, every distant echo of gunfire made her flinch. She pressed Verik close to her chest, feeling the small, fierce heartbeat against her. She set off.
The path she had scouted weeks ago wound through a narrow gully, overgrown with scrub and with a small stream. She had memorized it for moments like this, a hidden route away from anyone who might see her, away from the Meridians patrols, away from soldiers, and strangers alike. A distant shout made her freeze. Her heart pounded. For a second, she thought she saw movement, a figure, just a shadow between the trees. Lizzy held her breath, inching forward, every step calculated, every rustle muted. When her fear subsided, she quickened her pace.
It was almost afternoon by the time she reached a small ridge several kilometers from the cabin and several more from the nearest town. Smoke drifted lazily in the far distance, evidence of this morning's skirmish. Below her, she struggled to identify the faint signs of human habitation she knew were there, simple bunkers shrouded in camouflage netting, some hidden in groves of trees. Nearby was the rendezvous point she had been told about, but she wasn't scheduled to be here today, so she had to press on.
She whispered to the child, barely audible. "Almost there, Verik. Almost safe."
The kid didn't cry much. He hadn't at birth either, staring at her for several seconds before announcing himself. Even now, through their journey, he remained thankfully silent.
The sense of urgency that had surged through her relaxed slightly. She had made it through the frontlines. It was rare that the Meridian's soldiers would patrol this far west; they didn't want to commit to a war their government didn't publicly recognize. They were content to wear down the West Coast's forces via towns traded back and forth year after year, or fields conquered, lost, and reconquered.
Lizzy let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The valley below seemed calm, but she knew better. Peace was still fragile here. She adjusted Verik in her arms, checking the blanket, making sure he was secure and warm. The boy's small eyes blinked occasionally, a reminder that he was alive and that she had to keep him that way.
The path down the ridge was steeper than she remembered. Loose rocks threatened to shift under her boots, and every snap of a twig echoed like a gunshot. She moved slowly, deliberately, letting instinct guide her more than sight. Every shadow could hide danger; every distant sound could be a scout closing in. A sudden rustle in the brush made her freeze, and her heart jumped. For a moment, she considered throwing herself and Verik behind a boulder and waiting for it to pass. Then she recognized the shape — a small deer, grazing blindly, unaware of the dangers around it. Lizzy exhaled, forcing herself to relax. Then she heard it, the faint click of a safety being turned off.
"Nightfall," she cried out, the codeword slipping past her lips like a warning and a plea. She pressed Verik to herself, hoping to protect him from the bullets she was sure would rip through them.
"Ember?" a man's voice called from the shadows, low and probing. "Is that you?"
"Yes!" she whispered urgently, not yet daring to turn around.
"Follow me," the man said, sounding more relaxed. "But don't make any sudden moves; others are watching from the trees."
Elizabeth turned slowly. The man's mouth dropped open, as if a weight had been attached. "What are you doing with a baby?" he gasped, shocked. He was dressed in a camouflage uniform that had seen better days; it was stained in dried mud and blood from weeks in the field. He looked to be in his thirties but was almost certainly younger, with a face worn by a life of hardship.
"A friend died… I couldn't just abandon him!" Lizzy managed to squeeze out, the events of the morning finally hardening into reality. Her best friend had bled out while giving birth to this little boy. She hated the Meridian League for the war, hated Hannah's father for sending her here, and hated herself for being powerless.
The man's jaw tightened, and for a moment he said nothing. His eyes flicked to the tree line, scanning for threats before returning to her. "Alright," he said finally, his voice softer now but edged with fatigue. "We'll sort it out once we're inside the perimeter. You shouldn't be out here, not this close to the frontline, not during the day."
He slung his rifle across his back and motioned for her to follow. "Stay close, keep your head down."
Lizzy nodded, clutching Verik to her chest as they began to move. The man led her down a steep incline into the shadows of the forest, his steps careful and practiced. The ground was damp, the air thick with pine, and the faint scent of cordite carried by the wind.
She could see others now, half-hidden silhouettes between the trees. Their rifles tracked her movement for a few seconds before lowering as the man raised his hand in a silent signal.
When they reached the base of the slope, he turned back to her. "Name's Keller," he said quietly. She faintly recognized the name from previous meetings with her handler.
Lizzy's throat tightened. "Thank you," she managed.
Keller gave a small nod, then adjusted his rifle strap. "Come on. The camp's ahead - stay close. We'll get you both fed and under cover before anyone notices the movement.
They were in the midst of the camp sooner than she expected, a testament to the muted browns and greys of tarps and netting that melted into the rock and pine throughout the valley. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp soil and burnt coffee. Somewhere nearby, a generator coughed. Boots scuffed against gravel and pine needles. A man murmured into a radio. The place felt both alive and half-dead — the rhythm of survival stripped of anything unnecessary.
Lizzy's stomach turned as she caught the faint stench of unwashed clothes and blood, old, metallic, human. Verik stirred against her chest, and she pressed her hand over him instinctively, as if to block out the scent, the noise, the tension humming beneath it all.
Keller glanced back to make sure she was keeping up. "Don't worry," he muttered, misinterpreting her move as nervousness. "We're safe here." With that, he ushered her toward a dimly lit dugout. "Wait here — the lieutenant's going to want to speak to you."
Before she could reply, he was already moving off toward a bunker buried in the valley wall.
Lizzy sat down on a blanket-covered bench, Verik cradled tight against her chest. She tried to gather her thoughts — Hannah's final moments, Verik's soft breaths, the troop movements she'd seen, convoys that only ever moved under the cover of darkness, and the memos that passed through her hands at work. Minutes passed.
The sheet covering the entrance tore back, and Keller entered alongside a man in a clean but faded uniform. The officer — Lieutenant Taylor, if she remembered correctly, having met him once before, sat across from her and held out a canteen.
"For the baby," he said simply. "It's goat milk."
Lizzy blinked, surprised. The canteen had the finger of a latex glove stretched tight over the opening, fastened with a twist of wire. A crude hole had been burned through the tip. a makeshift bottle born of necessity.
Taylor's eyes softened for a moment. "It's not much," he said quietly, "but it'll keep him going.". She accepted it gratefully. Verik latched weakly at first, then drank with a quiet, desperate rhythm. Relief washed through her, one less thing to worry about. The lieutenant reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a ration bar. "For you," he said, handing it across. Taylor sat back, his expression hardening. The warmth drained from his voice. "I hope you didn't jeopardize your mission for a baby." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
Lizzy chewed slowly, buying herself time. "I didn't plan on having a meeting so soon," she said carefully, her tone measured. "But it's a minor inconvenience, not a compromise. I have a full briefing to make."
Taylor leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying her like she was a report he wasn't sure he trusted. "You are supposed to stay clear until you are summoned and arrangements made. Instead, you show up at my perimeter with a newborn."
Lizzy met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "I adapted to the circumstances. Besides, the intel I have is better told sooner rather than later."
Lieutenant Taylor leaned back slightly, studying her. "Go on," he said, voice sharp but not unkind.
"Field Marshal Devon Müller is visiting frontline troops along the Dumont gap in two months in the hopes of analyzing the feasibility of a summer offensive. I believe it is possible to infiltrate a SRD unit behind the enemy line along Müller's proposed route." Lizzy started, slipping into a neutral tone with which she always passed along intel. "We have a real shot at taking him out."
Taylor's eyes narrowed, then softened. He nodded slowly, clearly impressed. "Good," he said. "That is useful. If you can get us more like that without being discovered, you'll prove you're worth keeping around. Hell, they may even promote you," he joked.
Something loosened within Lizzy. "I want out," she blurted. For the first time, she wanted to escape the constant threat of discovery working as a secretary in enemy quarters, the fear that sneaking intel across combat zones could cost her life. Most of all, she wanted to escape the dull but ever-present ache that came with forming relationships with the good people on the other side — the ones she had no choice but to betray simply by being there. "I want out." She repeated, testing the will behind her words.
The lieutenant's gaze darkened; it could have been with anger or maybe something else. "It's the stress getting to you, you're just tired," he said, his voice robotic, almost as if he had said that same phrase a hundred times. "We'll send you to the rear for a few days, give you a chance to rest. Your handler is going to want your findings on the field marshal." With that, he stood up and left the tent. Leaving Keller and the girl behind. He had more important things to deal with right now. A position to their north had managed to wipe out an enemy detachment in the early hours of the morning, and the brass wanted them to press their advantage tonight and try to take the next ridgeline.
Keller begrudged the lieutenant for leaving him responsible for the spy and a newborn, especially with his squad still on sentry duty. "There will be an IFV coming tonight to bring supplies. You will be able to hitch a ride to the rear on that. Until then, get rested, stay out of the way, and if you need anything, give me a shout. I'm going to be in the comms pit," Keller finished, voice flat. "I'll be back before dusk." He shouldered his pack and, after a last, uncertain glance at Verik, moved toward the tunnel of tarps and earth where the camp's nerve center was hidden by sandbags and netting. Lizzy watched him go until the entrance to the dugout fell closed again and ushered her into a world of darkness broken only by a red bulb softly glowing from the ceiling.
The dugout smelled of wool, sawdust, and the faint iron tang of blood that is hard to wash out. At one point, a medic stopped by offering her water, more goat milk, and a blanket. "He's stable," the woman said after a once-over and without looking up. "Eat. Try to sleep." Her fingers were quick and competent; there was no pity in them, only business.
Lizzy ate a few mouthfuls of the ration bar and sipped the cup of lukewarm water the medic had brought. Verik's breathing was steady against her collarbone; the tiny rise and fall of him was enough to distract her from the cold coil of worry that had taken up residence in her chest. She wondered if she had said too much. Outside, the camp shifted into its evening shape. Voices thinned. Boots became softer on the packed earth. Somewhere beyond the trees, men and women moved like shadows, rigging tripwires, checking seams in the camo, repairing the disguised perimeter that made the place disappear by daylight. Lizzy let the exhaustion pull at her eyelids. She thought, not for the first time, of the other life: a small desk covered in school work; her father in crisp suits; the foolish certainty that things would be simple if she could only maintain her grades. That life felt both very near and impossibly far away.
She curled around Verik and, for the first time since dawn, allowed herself to believe that she could get the boy to a civilian center, that she might get a few days in the rear to breathe and think things over.