Chapter 3: Breaths in the Dark

The air was too still.

Isa crouched low beneath a collapsed beam, her heartbeat drumming in her throat. Dust clung to her lashes. Somewhere above, boots scraped against stone. Voices. Orders. A language she didn’t understand—but tone didn’t need translation.

Elias pressed in beside her, his body still as carved stone, one hand lightly against her back, not restraining—grounding.

They’d taken a shortcut through the ruins of a shelled-out church to avoid a patrol. The shortcut turned into a trap.

Six soldiers.

One open archway.

No exit.

Isa’s breath caught when one of the men stopped just a meter from their hiding place. The soldier muttered something, lit a cigarette, and the flare of the match briefly illuminated the sanctuary—empty pews, shattered stained glass, ash.

Elias shifted imperceptibly, adjusting the grip on the knife tucked at his hip. Isa laid a hand on his wrist. No.

They had to wait.

The soldier took a drag, exhaled. The smoke curled toward them. Isa didn’t move, not even when her leg cramped. Not even when the warmth of Elias’s shoulder leaned harder into hers.

Minutes passed. Or maybe only seconds disguised as hours.

And then—a shout from outside.

Another patrol calling out. Something urgent. The cigarette dropped. Boots turned.

They were leaving.

Elias didn’t move until the last echo of footsteps faded. Then, without speaking, he took Isa’s hand and pulled her from the shadows.

Once outside the rubble, under the full pull of the night sky, she exhaled for the first time. She didn’t realize her hand was still holding his until she felt his thumb gently brush the side of hers.

“You didn’t flinch,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t breathe,” she shot back, heartbeat still wild.

He turned to face her fully then, their faces barely inches apart. His eyes searched hers—not for injuries, not for fear.

For something else. Something neither of them had words for yet.

“They would’ve killed you first,” he said, voice tight.

Isa didn’t blink. “And you wouldn’t have let them.”

It wasn’t a question.

He released her hand slowly, reluctantly. “We need to move.”

She nodded, but something had shifted between them in that breathless dark. Not just trust.

Promise.

They found shelter in the hollow shell of a hunter’s cabin nestled in a pine grove. The roof had caved in at the corners, but the hearth still worked, and the woodpile was untouched. It was enough.

Elias lit a fire with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times. Isa sat across from him, peeling off her damp gloves, flexing her fingers. They were silent for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts—until the warmth started to thaw more than their limbs.

“You almost stabbed that soldier,” Isa said, glancing at him. “With a knife.”

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

She raised a brow. “It is when your backup is a field nurse and the plan is don’t get seen.”

Elias smirked faintly. “I’d rather die moving than be caught holding my breath under a beam.”

“That explains the scar on your jaw, then.”

He touched the spot absently, the old wound she’d asked about once. He hadn’t answered then. He didn’t now. But the look he gave her was amused.

“I was ready,” he said. “You flinched.”

“I stopped you from doing something stupid,” she countered, leaning closer. “There’s a difference.”

“You really think you could stop me?” he asked, and this time the smirk was playful, a little dangerous.

Isa held his gaze. “Elias, if I wanted to stop you, you’d be face-down in the snow by now.”

That earned a soft huff of laughter from him. “Remind me not to give you coffee and a scalpel at the same time.”

“I’ll put that on your medical chart. ‘Patient responds poorly to common sense.’”

He poked the fire with a broken branch, sparks flaring. “You’re not like the others.”

Isa blinked. “Others?”

“Nurses. Civilians. Anyone who’s still trying to live like the war hasn’t changed them.”

She considered that. “Maybe I have changed. But I’m still alive. That counts for something.”

Elias went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“You know what I thought, back in that church?”

She looked up.

“I thought if they saw us, I could buy time. Maybe run. Draw fire. Give you a chance.”

Her throat tightened. “You think I couldn’t have done the same?”

He met her eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

They sat in the quiet that followed—not strained, but heavy with things neither of them were brave enough to name yet.

Finally, Isa lay back on her bedroll, tucking her hands behind her head.

“You’re not as reckless as you act,” she murmured.

Elias settled beside the fire, lying opposite her. “And you’re not as calm as you pretend.”

A pause.

“But we make it work,” she added.

“Barely,” he replied, but there was a softness in the word.

Outside, the wind shifted through the trees like a lullaby. Inside, two ghosts lay in silence, waiting for sleep—or something like it.

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