Hunter is hunched over, trembling. I can sense it: he wants to scream, but some scrap of reason holds him back.
"Lieutenant!" I call out, so he knows I’m approaching.
He doesn’t respond.
I rise from the ground and crawl to him on my knees. One look is all I need.
Half of Olaf’s face is gone. His blond hair is soaked in blood. His one remaining eye stares blankly at the sky.
A curse escapes me. I lift a hand and gently close the dead eye, no longer seeing this world… or maybe any world. Hard to say.
I wish I could do something. Anything. Turn back time. Kill them all.
A flashback hits me hard. Six years ago, a tourist bus was attacked. My beloved granddad was one of the victims. NFH picked his bus at random, just to send a message, a tactic to spread fear. He died, burned alive. He’s the reason I enlisted: to protect innocent people from militants and escort humanitarian aid convoys.
I look at Hunter. He’s in shock, one I know too well.
This was supposed to be Olaf’s last mission. He was a doctor. He brought aid to war-torn regions. But once he got pregnant, he decided to retire from active duty. Today was supposed to be his final run.
This route was considered safe. Nothing had ever happened here. No attacks. No traps.
I take a deep breath against the weight of this senseless loss. It saps my strength, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. There are no words for this kind of grief.
The same kind of grief ended my childhood. At eighteen, I left my carefree life behind, devastated by my granddad's death. Everything was set aside. My beloved bike. My garden. My friends.
Since that day, I’ve lived in constant depression, stress, and this looming sense that it’s all pointless. NFH is never going to stop. We are just dying here, trying to keep countless villages from being burned and children from being slaughtered.
And my life was disappearing every day. It still is.
I reach out and lay a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to feel it. His eyes… they don’t even look human anymore.They remind me of Olaf’s. Blank, lifeless. Like part of his soul is gone.
Hunter and Olaf were High Mates. Almost perfect compatibility, a step away from being True Mates.
I tighten my grip on his shoulder, almost painfully, trying to snap him out of it.
"Lieutenant, we have to go. The enemy could be here any second…"
Still no response. He doesn’t even seem to hear me.
For a moment, my mind blanks out too. It’s just too close to home.
We both kneel in silence. Hunter rocks Olaf’s body gently, blond hair sticky with blood resting on his arm.
"It was supposed to be his last mission," Hunter whispers, voice shredded and rough. "His last, and then…"
He chokes on a sob, bowing his head, his whole body shaking.
I can’t accept it either. A brutal, meaningless death, for a man who spent his life helping the wounded and sick.
"Fucking bastards," I mutter. "He did everything he could to ease their pain, and now—"
But I stop myself. Hunter’s sobbing worsens. My words aren’t helping.
"We have to get to safety," I say, my voice hardening. "We need to move. This place is too exposed. They could attack any minute."
Nothing. He doesn’t even flinch.
"We need to bring his body back to base," I add, hoping that’ll break through. Give him a reason to act, to move, even just an inch. This stillness is dangerous.
