Imposter
Sleep refused to come.
The barracks had grown quiet hours ago, the restless movement of soldiers fading into the slow mechanical rhythm of night. Only a dim lamp near the doorway remained lit, its pale glow stretching across the metal bedframes and casting long shadows along the floor. Beyond the narrow window the sea was invisible in the darkness, though the distant sound of waves striking the cliffs carried faintly through the still air like the steady breathing of something ancient and indifferent to the war unfolding above it.
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling.
Every time my eyes closed the same words returned.
The one who gave you that necklace.
He's alive.
My fingers moved slowly to the pendant resting against my collarbone. The metal felt cold against my skin, as though it carried with it the memory of somewhere far away from this island and its endless noise of conflict.
Daniel's face appeared in my mind with unsettling clarity. The crowded airport terminal. The hurried announcements echoing through the building. The strange seriousness in his voice when he pressed the necklace into my hand.
"Keep it safe," he had said.
At the time I had laughed, assuming it was simply a sentimental farewell before his flight. Now the memory felt heavier, burdened with meaning that had not existed then.
Because somewhere beneath this same building, chained to a steel chair in a dim interrogation room, a stranger had looked directly at that necklace and spoken words that had broken something open inside my mind.
"You're thinking loudly."
The voice came softly from across the room.
I turned my head. Luca was sitting upright on his bed, his back resting against the wall while the dim lamp cast a faint line of light across his face. The white bandage around his temple caught the glow, making the bruise beneath it appear darker.
"You're supposed to be sleeping," I said quietly.
"So are you."
I exhaled slowly and looked back toward the ceiling.
"Priests shouldn't spy on people at night."
"Priests observe," he replied calmly.
For a moment neither of us spoke. The silence felt natural, as though the room itself understood the weight of the conversation that had not yet begun.
"You're carrying a question," Luca said eventually.
"Yes."
"War tends to create those."
"This one existed before the war."
He studied my face more carefully now.
"Then what is it?"
The question lingered in the dim air before I finally asked it.
"Do you think God has favorites?"
Luca blinked slowly, clearly surprised by the direction of the conversation.
"That's a dangerous question to ask a priest."
"Answer it anyway."
He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms loosely.
"I believe God loves everyone equally."
A quiet laugh escaped me.
"That sounds like the safest answer possible."
"It also happens to be what I believe."
I turned onto my side so I could see him more clearly.
"Then explain something to me," I said.
"I'll try."
"Why do some people lose everything while others seem protected from the worst parts of life?"
Luca did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted briefly toward the window where the faint sound of the ocean echoed through the darkness.
"War makes that question louder," he said eventually.
"That's not an answer."
"No," he admitted softly. "It's an observation."
I shook my head.
"When the war started," I said quietly, "I prayed."
He did not interrupt.
"I prayed for the bombing to stop. I prayed for people to survive. I prayed for the plane not to crash."
My voice dropped lower.
"And nothing happened."
The quiet hum of electricity running through the base filled the silence that followed.
"So sometimes," I continued, "I think maybe God protects some people more than others."
Luca watched me carefully.
"And you think you're not one of them."
I stared upward again.
"Would someone God protects be here?" I asked softly. "In the middle of a war zone, watching people die every day?"
Luca smiled faintly.
"Maybe."
"That makes no sense."
"Maybe God's favorites," he said slowly, "aren't the ones who are protected."
"Then who are they?"
"The ones who keep walking even when protection never comes."
His words lingered quietly in the air.
"I used to think faith meant believing someone would save you," I said after a moment.
"And now?"
"Now I think faith might just mean realizing no one is coming."
Luca remained silent for a long time before responding.
"Or perhaps faith means realizing someone did come," he said softly.
I turned my head slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe God doesn't always appear the way we expect," he said. "Maybe sometimes he sends someone else instead."
"Someone else?"
"Yes."
"Like who?"
"The girl treating wounded soldiers in the middle of a war," Luca said calmly.
I had no answer to that.
Outside, the wind shifted and carried the distant sound of the ocean across the island.
My fingers tightened slightly around the necklace.
Because somewhere inside this war, hidden beneath the chaos and destruction..
Daniel might still be alive
Across the base, the operations room remained illuminated long after midnight. Most officers had already left, leaving the wide strategy tables empty beneath the glow of a single desk lamp. Adrian sat alone behind the desk, several intelligence folders spread carefully before him.
The prisoner's report lay open at the top.
Captured three days earlier during an ambush along the eastern highway. Possible connections to enemy command networks. Interrogation ongoing.
Adrian closed the file slowly.
Something about the prisoner's request continued to bother him.
A nurse named Jane.
He reached for another stack of documents of civilian reports gathered from regions surrounding the conflict during the early days of the war. Evacuation lists. Witness statements. Missing-person files.
Most were ordinary.
Then one document caught his attention.
The file had been transmitted quietly through an external intelligence channel, information gathered by journalists and observers working across the border during the first weeks of the conflict. Adrian pulled the report closer and began reading.
Civilian female. Age twenty-two. Last seen near the eastern evacuation corridor after the convoy was struck during the opening bombardments. Witness reports suggested the subject became separated from the group during the attack.
A photograph was attached.
The girl in the image stood outdoors holding a professional camera, sunlight catching in her hair while she looked toward the lens with a faint confident smile.
Wildlife photographer. Civilian. Missing.
Adrian studied the image carefully.
Something about the face felt familiar.
His eyes moved slowly downward to the name printed beneath the photograph.
For a moment the room remained silent.
Then Adrian murmured the name under his breath.
"Eve Hale."