The quiet inside the cabin felt wrong—a stillness so absolute it pressed against the skin. Not even the wind dared breathe; not a single insect chirped. It was the unnerving kind of silence that settles only after violence, when the world seems to recoil and watch from a distance.
Ababeel sat on the floor amid the fallen bodies of Private Micheal, Sergeant Daniel, and Corporal Leo. Their uniforms were stained, their limbs twisted in the stillness of death. But she didn't look at them. She didn't look at anything.
Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself with a desperation that made her seem smaller, as if she were trying to fold into her own shadow. Her hair clung damply to her temple. Her hands trembled in small repetitive bursts, like the leftover echoes of gunshots replaying through her bones.
She stared ahead with empty eyes.
Not crying. Not shaking anymore. Just hollow—dangerously hollow.
A shell trying to remember how to breathe.
At the cabin, Habeel paced around in anxiousness and stood with his hand braced against the frame. His head throbbed, his ribs screamed, but none of that compared to the cold fear slithering up his spine at the sight of her. He pushed himself forward, each step a battle against dizziness.
"Ababeel…" His voice cracked, gentle as frayed parchment. "Hey… hey, look at me."
She didn't move. Didn't blink.
Habeel lowered himself to a crouch—pain splitting up his arm—but he grit his teeth and sat beside her, leaving just enough distance not to suffocate her.
"Ababeel… just breathe, okay?"Nothing. Her breaths stayed short, shallow, too fast.
He reached out with his uninjured hand and lightly touched her forearm.
She jolted as if struck, scrambling backwards with a sharp gasp.
Habeel instantly lifted both hands in surrender."Okay—okay! No touching. Got it." He forced a soft, shaky laugh. "See? Hands up. I come in peace."
Her gaze flickered—barely, but it was something.
Habeel lowered his hands slowly, speaking in a voice made of gentleness and raw worry.
"Listen… what happened here—what they did—would terrify anyone. Anyone. But look at you. You survived. You fought back."
He swallowed hard, positioning himself in front of her, close enough for her to see him clearly but not close enough to crowd her.
"I'm here," he whispered. "You're not alone."
Her breathing was rapid, chest rising and falling too quickly.
"Hey… look at my hand."He held out his palm, steady."Just look. You don't have to touch it."
Her eyes—slowly, mechanically—moved to his hand.
"Good…" he murmured. "Just keep looking. You're doing great."
A faint tremor rolled through her breath, slowing only a fraction—but it was enough.
"You didn't freeze," he said softly. "You saved yourself. You saved me."
A single tear slipped down her cheek, falling soundlessly onto her knuckles.
Then finally—her voice broke free, fragile, distant:
"I killed them…"
Habeel's jaw clenched, not at her—never at her—but at the world that forced her into this.
"You defended yourself," he countered firmly. "That's different."
"They screamed," she whispered, staring past him. "And I didn't feel anything. Not fear. Not guilt. Nothing." Her voice shook. "What if… what if something broke in me?"
Habeel leaned closer, eyes soft, unwavering.
"Then I'll help you fix it," he said. "Piece by piece. Even if I have to use duct tape, prayers, and whatever else we can find."
Her lip trembled—somewhere between a sob and a fragile smile.
"And if I can't be fixed?" she whispered.
He didn't blink. Didn't hesitate.
"Then I'll sit with you in the broken parts. For as long as it takes."
A shudder ran through her. Her breathing steadied, not fully, but enough that her shoulders loosened ever so slightly.
Habeel slid down the wall beside her, sitting close—shoulder-to-shoulder, but without touching unless she reached first.
For a long moment, she just stared at him—eyes glossy, lost, searching.
Then something in her finally cracked.
She moved and leaned forward.
Her forehead pressed into his chest with a soft, broken sound—half-sob, half-exhale. She clutched at his shirt with trembling fingers, like he was the only solid thing left in a spinning world.
Habeel winced at the spike of pain in his ribs—But he wrapped his arms around her anyway, holding her as if shielding her from the memory itself.
Sunlight filtered through the cracked window, painting strips of pale gold across the floor—across the three dead soldiers—across the boy holding the girl who had been forced to become something she never wanted to be.
"I don't want to feel like this," she whispered against his chest.
Habeel exhaled softly, forehead resting atop her hair.
"You won't," he murmured. "Not forever. But right now? Just breathe with me."
She inhaled shakily.
He inhaled with her.
She exhaled.
He followed.
And in that fragile, trembling rhythm, her hands—for the first time since the invasion of the cabin—Finally stopped shaking.