"I don’t want to die… but if you pull the trigger, I won’t bme you."

  Her voice had already faded into the air, but the sound remained inside me. Hanging between my ribs. Like a bde slipped in without making noise.

  I was still pointing the rifle at her. Finger on the trigger, the familiar weight of the barrel against my shoulder. A mechanical gesture. Cold. Habit.

  And yet… I wasn’t firing.

  Why?

  I’ve always trusted instinct. When you see someone out here, outside of any outpost, alone, wounded, alive... they’re not a person. They’re a risk. And in this world, you don’t evaluate risks. You eliminate them.

  But she wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t crying. She didn’t beg.

  What the hell are you?

  She said her name was Elira. Said it without hesitation. As if that name was all she had left. A word that expined nothing, but was enough to fill the silence.

  When I asked her which base she came from, she just said:

  "I don’t have one."

  Like it was normal. Like having no home, no safe pce, no name carved into a wall wasn’t something to mourn.

  Without a base, you’re no one. Without anyone… you’re dangerous. Because you have nothing to lose.

  And yet, there was something in her I couldn’t pce. Not just pain. Not just survival.

  Awareness.

  That strange crity you see in the eyes of those who’ve hit bottom… but didn’t drown.

  She looked at me like she already knew what I was about to do. Like she’d accepted it.

  People don’t accept. They fight. They scream. They ask why.

  She didn’t.

  I stepped closer. Slow steps. Measured. Ready for anything.

  Nothing.

  Just breathing. Shallow. But real.

  I looked at her more closely.

  Wounds everywhere. Deep cuts along her legs, bruises on her shoulder, probably a broken rib. Clothes torn, filthy. Eyes… light. A color I couldn’t even name. But not dull. No. Bright in a disturbing way.

  "Are you hungry?"

  She nodded. Slowly. As if even that took effort.

  She didn’t move toward me. Didn’t say “please.” She stayed right where she was. Watching. Waiting.

  I opened my bag. Took out the half protein bar I had left. Tossed it to her.

  She caught it clumsily. With dirty, trembling hands. Stared at it like it was sacred. Then clutched it.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  How many times have I heard that word?

  Too many. And almost always from people who didn’t live long enough to say it again.

  I turned my back.

  I’d done enough. Spared a life.

  Once in a while, that’s allowed.

  Or so I thought.

  Three steps. The sound of my boots on hard dirt.

  Then another sound. Light footsteps. Following me.

  I stopped.

  No. Don’t start.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Away."

  "Can I come with you?"

  I didn’t turn all the way. Just slightly. The sky above felt heavier.

  "Why?"

  "Because I don’t want to die alone."

  Her words were simple. But they slid inside me like thin gss.

  Die alone.

  How many times had I thought the same? How many times had I felt like I was already dead just because no one knew I was still alive?

  Taking her with me is madness. She’s a burden. A danger. The beginning of something I can’t afford.

  And yet… I didn’t move. I stood there. Letting her question hang in the air.

  Can I come with you?

  I didn’t answer right away.

  Because deep down…

  Part of me wanted to say yes. And that… was scarier than any bullet.

  Night came faster than expected. As if the sky had just given up.

  We didn’t say much.

  I led. She followed. A few meters behind. Her steps were quiet, careful, like she was afraid of waking something that hadn’t been asleep.

  We found shelter inside the ruins of what had once been a repair garage. Three walls, half a roof, some old pstic sheeting. Good enough.

  I built a small fire. Nothing big. Just enough to see our hands.

  She sat down across from me, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She didn’t eat the whole bar. Saved a piece. Carefully wrapped it again.

  "You don’t trust me," she said softly.

  I looked at her. "Should I?"

  She didn’t answer. Just stared into the fmes.

  Minutes passed. I couldn’t stop watching her.

  Her face was tired. Hollow. But not broken.

  "You look at me like I’m something strange," she said, without meeting my eyes.

  "You are."

  She smiled. It barely moved her lips, but it was real. "So are you."

  Silence again.

  She id down after a while. Curled up on her side. Breathing slowly. The fire cracked gently, throwing shadows against the wall.

  I sat there for a long time.

  I should sleep.

  But I didn’t.

  I watched her. Not like a soldier watches a target. Not like a man watches a woman.

  Just… watched.

  Who are you, Elira? Why does your silence make more noise than any scream I’ve heard?

  In the fmes, I saw other faces.

  Base 7. Dying in fire and screams.

  A hand reaching out from under rubble.

  Eyes wide. Asking for help.

  My own hands. Doing nothing.

  I closed my eyes.

  Sleep never comes easy. Not for people like me. Not for people who are still here when they shouldn’t be.

  But that night, with the fire crackling, and her breath steady in the dark, I didn’t feel alone.

  Not completely.

  LucienM