Chapter One
Simon Riley
The desert never apologized.
It didn't ask for forgiveness when it peeled your skin under the sun, or when the wind carried the scent of burnt metal and cordite through the air like perfume. No one came to this place expecting comfort. Especially not Lieutenant Simon Riley.
He preferred it that way.
"Lieutenant," came a voice behind him—sharp, clipped, too clean to belong here.
Simon didn't turn right away. He took one last drag of the cigarette burning low between his fingers, then stubbed it out against the rusted edge of a crate. "What is it?"
"Supply run's late again. Sergeant Hale says we're down to our last case of morphine."
Simon finally turned. Corporal Nunez looked jumpy—then again, they always did around him. The mask didn't help, he supposed. The black balaclava covering the lower half of his face had earned him more than a few nicknames over the years—most of them whispered behind his back.
He liked the silence better.
"I'll handle it," Simon said. His voice was low, gravel-lined. "Tell Hale to ration what he's got left."
Nunez hesitated, then nodded and moved off.
Simon stayed behind.
Out here, command came with two things: power and distance. He wielded both with precision. No one asked about the man behind the mask. No one dared. That's the way it had to be. Feelings got people killed. Friendships? Those were distractions.
He turned, boots crunching in the sand as he walked back toward the outpost. The tension in the air wasn't just from the heat. Something was shifting. He'd felt it for days now, like a storm you couldn't see yet but felt in your bones. Intel said enemy movement was increasing. The peace talks were a lie. He'd stopped believing in those about three deployments ago.
They'd sent word yesterday: reinforcements were coming. And with them, medical personnel. A new nurse, specifically. Young. Fresh out of training. A bad idea.
Simon had already decided he wasn't going to like her.
They never lasted long. The ones with soft hands and softer hearts always came in thinking they could make a difference. Thinking they were brave. Then the first body hit the slab, and reality kicked the door in. They either hardened up fast—or they begged to be transferred back to safety.
No, she wouldn't last.
And Simon Riley didn't have time to babysit a bleeding heart.
Still, something about this one's file had caught his eye. A funny name: Lilly Rose. Like something out of a storybook, not a war zone. Maybe that's what annoyed him most.
This wasn't a story. This was survival. And she'd learn that the hard way.
Simon reached his quarters, pulled the door shut behind him, and peeled off his gloves. The air inside was barely cooler, but it was enough. He sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight.
He didn't know yet that her arrival would change everything. That she'd look at him without fear. That she'd speak to him like she didn't give a damn about rank or reputation. That she'd dig past every wall he'd spent years building and tear them down one breath at a time.
But for now, she was just a name.
And Simon Riley had no room for names.
Only orders.
Only war.