Few weeks ter

  (Car pov)

  I stood by the window of my office, the mountains stretching out beneath me in muted afternoon light. My reflection stared back faintly in the gss—tired eyes, tight jaw, shoulders that hadn't properly rexed in weeks.

  "?Cuántos muertos?" (How many dead?) I asked into the phone, keeping my voice level.

  A brief pause.

  "Somente seis." (Only six)

  I exhaled slowly.

  Only six.

  The word only felt wrong. Six families. Six names that wouldn't answer their phones tonight.

  We were winning. Every report said so. Territory tightening in our favor. Supply routes secure. Pressure mounting on their side.

  And yet it didn't feel like victory.

  It felt like erosion.

  "?Cuál es estimación de cuántos soldados les quedan?" (Whats the estimate of how many soldiers they have left) I asked, rubbing my temple as a dull headache began forming.

  "Sólo les quedan unos trescientos." (Only three hundred or so left)

  Three hundred.

  I stared out at the skyline again, calcuting silently. Fewer numbers meant fewer coordinated pushes. Less endurance. They'd have to back down soon... or make a reckless move.

  This was good. Strategically.

  But strategy didn't quiet the unease in my chest.

  "He oído que están pneando hacer una gran huelga," (I've heard that they're pnning to make a rge strike) my lieutenant added.

  That made me straighten.

  A rge strike?

  My mind immediately began scanning possibilities. Supply lines? Rural checkpoints? One of the outer compounds?

  We had most critical routes locked down. Surveilnce tightened. Rotations adjusted.

  Unless—

  "Unless Lina pns to feed them information," I said quietly.

  My teeth clenched at the name.

  We hadn't seen her. Hadn't intercepted a message. Nothing since she switched sides.

  Silence like that wasn't comforting.

  It was preparation.

  If she was giving them internal youts, timing windows, weak links—

  My grip on the phone tightened.

  "Keep internal rotations unpredictable," I ordered calmly. "No one sticks to a pattern. Double verification on any gate clearance. And I want a review of anyone who's had direct access to logistics within the st month."

  A pause.

  "Entendido."

  I ended the call and let the phone lower slowly to my side.

  We were winning.

  But wars didn't end because you were ahead.

  They ended because someone made a mistake.

  And I had a feeling Lina was pnning to make sure it wasn't hers.

  "Just what do you pn on doing, Lina..." I whispered to the empty room, my voice barely audible over the faint hum of the air conditioner. "Why did you betray me in the first pce?"

  The question lingered longer than I wanted it to.

  I left my office, the door clicking shut behind me, and made my way down the quiet hallway toward my bedroom.

  The mansion felt strangely still—too still. Usually I'd hear Miguel's voice drifting through the door, either ughing at something on stream or muttering to himself while pying.

  But when I pushed the door open—

  Empty.

  The bed was neatly made. The lights dim. No hum of his PC. No soft glow from the monitors.

  A subtle flicker of unease passed through me.

  I stepped back into the hallway and found Le stationed at her usual post, posture straight, hands csped behind her back.

  "Have you seen Miguel?" I asked.

  She hummed softly, thinking.

  "I think I saw him head toward the pool area about twenty minutes ago."

  I nodded once. "Thank you, Le."

  She dipped her head respectfully.

  I paused for a second, studying her. She'd been pulling longer shifts tely. Most of them had.

  "Take a break, please," I added calmly. "You're always working hard."

  Her brows lifted in visible confusion.

  "O–Oh... sure. Thank you."

  I offered her a small nod before turning away.

  The staircase felt longer than usual as I descended. My footsteps echoed faintly against the marble, the golden afternoon light spilling in through the tall windows and casting long shadows across the walls.

  The tension from earlier—Lina, the potential strike, the shifting battlefield—still lingered in the back of my mind.

  But right now, I just wanted to see him.

  As I stepped onto the lower floor, the faint sound of water reached my ears.

  The pool.

  I followed it, my pace quickening slightly.

  Whatever chaos was brewing outside these walls, whatever Lina was plotting—

  Miguel was my calm.

  And I intended to find him.

  The gss doors slid open with a soft whisper as I stepped outside.

  The te afternoon air was warm, brushed with the scent of chlorine and freshly cut grass. The sky had begun to soften into gold, sunlight spilling over the endless stretch of green hills beyond the property.

  Trees swayed zily in the distance, the world looking deceptively peaceful.

  And there he was.

  Miguel sat at the edge of the pool, his shoes discarded beside him, pant legs slightly rolled as his bare feet drifted through the water. Gentle ripples spread outward every time he moved his toes. He wasn't on his phone. Wasn't talking.

  Just staring at the hills.

  Quiet.

  For a moment, I simply watched him.

  The way the breeze moved through his hair. The way his shoulders seemed rexed, but thoughtful. Like his mind was somewhere far away.

  I walked over without saying anything and lowered myself beside him. The stone beneath us was still warm from the sun. I slipped my legs into the water too, the coolness instantly climbing up my skin, grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.

  I wrapped an arm around him, pulling him gently against my side.

  He didn't resist. He leaned in immediately, resting his head against my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  The contact softened something in my chest.

  The water pped softly against the pool's edge. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out. Otherwise, it was just us.

  I let my cheek rest lightly against the top of his head.

  "What made you come out here?" I asked softly, my thumb tracing slow circles against his arm.

  His fingers drifted absently over my thigh, not in a provocative way—just grounding, like he needed contact.

  "My chat kept getting spammed by some weirdos asking me to fsh them," he said quietly.

  I felt my jaw tighten instantly.

  The peaceful hills in front of us blurred slightly as irritation fred in my chest. The audacity. The entitlement. Hiding behind usernames and screens.

  I exhaled slowly through my nose.

  The internet was going to internet.

  Still didn't mean I had to like it.

  "I think I'm gonna stop," he continued, his voice softer now. "The only person that's ever nice to me in chat is this one girl. Other than that, it's always horny girls that spam."

  There was frustration there—but more than that, disappointment.

  He wasn't upset about attention.

  He was upset about being reduced to it.

  I shifted slightly, turning my head to look at him. The golden light from the setting sun caught on his features, outlining him softly.

  "Maybe it's for the best," I said gently. Not dismissive. Just protective.

  He leaned a little more into me, staring at the water.

  "Yeah... maybe I'll try once more," he murmured after a moment. "Maybe it was just a bad day."

  The honesty in that made something warm bloom in my chest.

  Hope.

  I pressed a soft kiss into his hairline.

  "One bad stream doesn't define you," I said quietly. "And neither do weird strangers behind keyboards."

  The water rippled around our legs as he shifted, his hand squeezing my thigh gently.

  "If you try again," I added, brushing my fingers through his hair, "do it because you enjoy it. Not because you need validation from people who don't even know you."

  The hills in the distance glowed deep green as the sun dipped lower.

  He sat there thinking, breathing steadily against me.

  And whatever he chose—quit or try again—I'd be right here beside him.

  ——