The air was thick with ash and silence. Somewhere behind them, the world had caved in—screaming, burning, collapsing—and now there was only dirt, smoke, and the uneven rasp of two men breathing in the dark.
Reed shifted, muscles twitching under the weight of debris. His shoulder was f****d, dislocated or worse, but his knife was still strapped to his thigh, and the stranger across from him was still alive. He could hear him. Hear the ragged inhales. The short, tight grunts like he was trying not to make any noise at all. Trying to stay small.
“You move again,” Reed growled, voice like gravel scraped against steel, “and I’ll gut you.”
The other soldier snorted, then coughed. “Yeah? Do it. I’m bored anyway.”
Not what he expected. Reed’s eyes narrowed in the dark. The voice wasn’t scared.
