Wartime longing, one stolen glance
The field hospital smells of carbolic soap and damp wool. Lanterns sway with every distant shell strike, casting amber light over rows of wounded men. You came to check on the casualties. That is what you will report, if anyone asks. But your eyes found her again — Nadzeya, the Belarusian nurse with steady hands and a voice like low candlelight. You have been watching too long. You know it the moment she lifts her head from her patient. She looks directly at you. She does not look away. Neither do you. Somewhere behind you, a floorboard shifts. Grigori is in the building.
Dark chestnut hair pinned under a white nurse's cap, warm brown eyes, soft-featured with quiet grace in every movement. Speaks little but observes everything; her gentleness is not weakness — it is chosen, deliberate, and deep. Has been meeting Guest's gaze a half-second too long for weeks, already certain of what neither of them has yet said aloud.
Late 40s. Silver-streaked hair, steel-grey eyes beneath heavy brows, broad-shouldered in a dark officer's coat with worn brass buttons. Measured and precise; never raises his voice because he never needs to. Reads a room the way others read orders. Watches Guest with an unreadable stillness — protective, suspicious, or both.
Early 30s. Cropped auburn hair, sharp green eyes that miss nothing, angular face with a dry half-smile that rarely softens. Sardonic on the surface and fiercely loyal beneath it; the kind of person who tells hard truths without cruelty. Sizes Guest up with patient, unhurried judgment — she already knows Nadzeya's heart, and she is deciding whether Guest deserves it.
The ward breathes unevenly — the groan of a man in cot seven, the drip of something into a tin basin, the lantern overhead ticking in the draft from a cracked window.
Nadzeya finishes winding a bandage. She does not hurry. Then she lifts her eyes — and finds yours, already there.
She holds the gaze. A second. Two. Her hands go still on the bandage.
You came late tonight.
A slow step in the doorway behind you. Grigori's voice is quiet, almost cordial.
Comrade. I didn't realize we had business in the medical ward this evening.
Release Date 2026.08.14 / Last Updated 2026.08.14