Ethan didn’t remember how he reached the room.

  All he remembered was Sofia’s hand tightly wrapped around his, guiding him gently but firmly, like she was holding both of them together.

  Inside, she helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

  He stared at the floor.

  He didn’t speak.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Words felt useless, too sharp, too heavy.

  The world—his world—had shifted under his feet in an instant.

  The uniform that once defined him was gone.

  The mission he lived for was gone.

  The structure he depended on was gone.

  His identity…

  Gone.

  Sofia knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. She didn’t push him to look at her. She didn’t demand explanations or try to cheer him up.

  She simply stayed.

  Her presence was a warmth in the cold shock that had seized his chest.

  After several long minutes, Ethan finally whispered,

  “They said the neurological damage is too unpredictable. My balance. My hearing. My response time. They can’t send me back into combat.”

  Sofia listened silently.

  “They said…” His voice cracked. “…that even training others might not be safe for me. That the risk is too high. Liability.”

  His breath trembled as he looked away, jaw clenched.

  “I’ve given everything to them,” he said, voice strained. “Everything. My twenties. My body. My loyalty. And now I’m just… dismissed.”

  Sofia moved closer, her forehead touching his hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want pity.”

  “It’s not pity,” she said softly. “It’s love.”

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  That word made him flinch.

  Because it broke something open inside him.

  He dragged a hand down his face, fighting a storm.

  “Sofia… I don’t know who I am without this. I wake up because of duty. I breathe because of purpose. Without the military—”

  “You’re still you,” she said firmly.

  He met her gaze, pain shining in his eyes.

  “I don’t feel like me.”

  Her chest tightened.

  She lifted his hand, placing it over her heart.

  “Then let me help you remember.”

  His breath caught.

  Emotion tightened his face, his throat, everything.

  He leaned forward slowly, resting his forehead against hers.

  For a moment, they just breathed together.

  Two broken people holding each other up.

  —

  A soft knock interrupted them.

  Camila stepped in quietly.

  Her face fell the moment she saw Ethan’s expression. “So they told you.”

  Ethan gave a small, defeated nod.

  Camila exhaled deeply and walked to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Ethan, I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

  He looked away. “Life doesn’t care what we deserve.”

  Camila’s voice softened. “Maybe not. But it gives us people who do.”

  He blinked slowly, emotion rising again.

  Camila squeezed his shoulder, then looked at Sofia, giving her a reassuring nod before stepping back.

  “Well,” Camila said gently, forcing a small smile, “we’re not letting you sink into a hole today. I’m staying until you eat something.”

  Ethan huffed a humorless breath. “I’m not hungry.”

  Camila crossed her arms. “Too bad.”

  Sofia almost laughed at the familiar tone. Even Ethan’s expression twitched slightly.

  Camila had been in his life long enough to know how to pull him out of the darkest places—if only for a second.

  She moved around the room, adjusting things, clearing clutter, opening the blinds.

  Sofia watched the dynamic quietly.

  There was no jealousy.

  No tension.

  Only the strange tenderness of two people who once held each other’s hearts but now held only mutual respect.

  Then Camila paused and faced them.

  “I’ll be in the cafeteria,” she said. “If you want to talk, or scream, or throw something—Ethan, preferably not something heavy—come find me.”

  Ethan gave a tired smirk. “No promises.”

  Camila touched Sofia’s arm softly before leaving. “Take care of him. And yourself.”

  The door closed.

  —

  Silence wrapped around them again.

  Sofia sat beside Ethan. The bed dipped slightly, shifting him closer to her. His shoulder brushed hers.

  He didn’t move away.

  “Sofia…” he whispered after a long moment. “Will you… stay with me today?”

  Her hand slid into his without hesitation. “Of course.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply for the first time since the evaluation.

  “You don’t have to talk,” she murmured. “Just sit with me.”

  He did.

  Minutes passed.

  Maybe more.

  Time felt soft and slow.

  Eventually, Ethan spoke again.

  “What were you doing when I saw you in the hallway?”

  The question hit her like a sudden cold wind.

  Her stomach knotted.

  She had hoped he wouldn’t ask—not today. Not when he was hurting.

  But Ethan was watching her now, eyes searching, cautious.

  “Sofia?” he repeated softly.

  She swallowed hard.

  “I… got a call.”

  “From Italy,” he said quietly.

  She nodded.

  His jaw tightened, but not from anger—fear.

  “What did they say?”

  Sofia’s fingers twisted together.

  “They want my final answer,” she whispered. “I told them I’d call before midnight.”

  Ethan froze.

  The silence between them filled with unspoken things—uncertainties, hopes, fears, sacrifices.

  He looked down at his hands.

  “I don’t want to hold you back,” he said quietly. “Not now. Not after everything you’ve worked for.”

  “And I don’t want to abandon you,” she replied, voice breaking.

  “You wouldn’t be abandoning me,” he said. “You’d be choosing your dream.”

  She shook her head fiercely. “But you’re a part of my dream too.”

  Ethan closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

  “Sofia… I don’t know who I’m going to be tomorrow.” His voice wavered. “I can’t ask you to build your future around someone who’s falling apart.”

  “You’re not falling apart,” she insisted, tears pooling. “You’re hurting. There’s a difference.”

  He looked at her, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly shattered her.

  “I want you,” he whispered. “But I’m scared wanting me will hurt you.”

  Sofia cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

  “Let me decide what hurts me,” she whispered.

  Their foreheads touched again.

  His fingers wrapped tightly around hers, like she was the only steady thing he had left.

  A soft tremor went through him—not fear, not weakness, but release.

  He whispered, voice breaking,

  “I don’t want to lose you too.”

  “You won’t,” she whispered.

  And she meant it.

  But even as she held him…

  She could feel the weight of her midnight deadline pressing against her lungs.

  She could feel Ethan’s future billowing like smoke—undefined, fragile.

  And she knew:

  The next 24 hours

  would determine

  not just her path…

  but his.

  Theirs.

  Everything.