Smoke and Names
By the time we reached the street, the air outside felt thicker than the smoke inside the gym. Ash drifted slowly through the evening light, turning the sky a dull grey that reminded me of old photographs left too long in the sun. People staggered across the broken pavement, coughing, shouting names, searching for faces they might never see again.
The boy whose shoulder I had stitched clung to my arm as we moved away from the collapsed building. His steps were uneven, but he refused to let go.
"You're doing fine," I told him.
"That's easy for you to say," he muttered weakly.
Behind us, soldiers shouted orders while pulling civilians away from the wreckage. A section of the gym roof had collapsed completely, sending a column of dark smoke twisting into the sky. Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, but they sounded far away, like they belonged to another city.
Adrian Volkov stood a few meters away, speaking quietly into a radio. Even surrounded by chaos, he moved with unsettling control. His posture remained straight, his uniform still immaculate despite the dust coating everything else.
A soldier approached him quickly. "Sir, structural collapse confirmed. Two possible survivors trapped near the western wall."
Adrian didn't hesitate. "Extraction team. Now."
His voice never rose, yet everyone around him moved faster.
I watched him for a moment longer than necessary before turning my attention back to the wounded scattered across the street. Someone had dragged several stretchers from a military truck, and civilians were being laid across them one by one.
A man waved frantically from near the edge of the sidewalk. "Over here! He's not breathing!"
I hurried toward him.
A young man lay half-conscious against a broken concrete barrier. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and a deep cut ran across his forehead. Unlike the others, he wore a thin black shirt with a small wooden cross hanging from his neck.
He looked barely older than me.
"Help him," the man beside him said urgently. "He was trying to pull people out when the second blast hit."
I knelt beside the injured stranger and pressed my fingers gently against his neck.
Pulse.
Weak, but steady.
"You're lucky," I murmured.
His eyelids fluttered open slightly.
"Am I?" he asked hoarsely.
"You're still breathing."
"That's debatable."
Despite the situation, I almost smiled.
"Can you move your legs?" I asked.
He shifted slightly, grimacing. "Yes."
"Good. Then you're going to survive."
I tore a clean strip of cloth from a medical kit and pressed it against the wound on his head. He watched me carefully while I worked.
"You're not a soldier," he said.
"No."
"A doctor?"
"No."
"Then what are you?"
I hesitated.
Before the war, the answer would have been simple.
Now it felt irrelevant.
"Someone who knows how to hold a needle," I said.
His eyes softened slightly.
"Daniela," he whispered suddenly.
I frowned. "What?"
"My sister," he said weakly. "She was inside."
I followed his gaze toward the ruins of the gym.
There was nothing left of the western wall.
He closed his eyes slowly.
"I'm sorry," I said.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at me again, studying my face as if trying to memorize it.
"You shouldn't apologize," he said quietly. "God decides these things."
I let out a short breath.
"Then God has a terrible sense of humor."
He blinked.
"That's a dangerous thing to say."
"So is believing someone up there is paying attention."
The young man stared at me for a long moment, clearly surprised.
"You don't believe in God?" he asked.
"I believe," I said, tying the bandage firmly, "that if He exists, He has favorites."
The words came out colder than I intended.
He seemed to think about that.
"My name is Luca," he said after a moment.
"A priest?"
"Not yet. Training."
"That explains the optimism."
Luca almost laughed, though it turned into a cough halfway through.
Before either of us could say more, the sound of helicopter blades filled the air.
Several civilians looked up instinctively.
A military transport helicopter descended slowly toward an empty section of the street, kicking up dust and ash in violent spirals.
Soldiers began directing people toward it.
"Evacuation transport!" someone shouted.
Adrian stepped forward again, scanning the injured.
His eyes moved quickly across the crowd until they stopped on me.
He walked over.
Up close, his presence felt even more unsettling. There was something about the way he observed people that made you feel like you were being measured.
"You're still standing," he said.
"Yes."
"You shouldn't be."
"Yet here we are."
For a second, something like amusement crossed his face.
Then it disappeared.
He glanced down at Luca.
"Injured?"
"Head trauma," I said. "He'll survive."
Adrian nodded once.
Then his gaze returned to me.
"You said your name was Eve."
"Yes."
"Last name?"
I hesitated just long enough for him to notice.
"Jane," I said finally.
The lie slipped out before I could stop it.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Not accusing.
Just observing.
"Jane," he repeated slowly.
For a moment I thought he might ask another question.
Instead he turned toward the helicopter.
"Both of you," he said. "Get on the transport."
Luca pushed himself up slowly, wincing.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Adrian's expression remained unreadable.
"Somewhere safer than here."
Behind us, the remains of the gymnasium collapsed further with a low thunderous crash.
Smoke curled into the sky.
I followed the line of Adrian's gaze toward the burning city.
Somewhere far away another explosion echoed.
Several regions were already fighting.
The war wasn't spreading.
It had already arrived.
Luca leaned slightly on my shoulder as we walked toward the helicopter.
"You lied to him," he murmured quietly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
I looked at the soldiers, the smoke, the ruined streets disappearing behind us.
"Because sometimes surviving," I said softly, "starts with choosing the right name."
The helicopter doors slammed shut behind us.
And for the first time since the war began, the ground fell away beneath my feet.