Page 16 of Inside the Sun

They leave that familiar vacant space behind. And once again, the emptiness hits me. The hunger to fill the void. Desperately. With risk. With anger.

Slowly, I pull a folded piece of paper from my phone case.

Nothing on it but a string of numbers.

Anzo Ferro’s phone number.

I smile to myself.

Gotta fill the void somehow, right?

Gotta find a way to forget the anger.

So I type a quick text:

"Hi"

RAGNAR

When the explosion hits, I’m crouched behind an overturned truck, blood trickling into my left eye. I wipe it away with a shaking hand, trying to focus on the dark outline of the bushes ahead.

I know another charge went off under the second truck, more direct this time.

I mutter a curse, adrenaline flooding my veins. My body itches to shift intoimago, my combat form, but I don’t let myself feel too eager. This isn’t just about me. If I run toward the truck now, the enemy will realize we’re alive. I’ll draw their attention straight to the potential survivors.

The decision waits. If I go like this, I might catch a spray of bullets, but if I shift, they won’t be able to kill me.

I hesitate. What should I do?

In my transformed state, crawling gets harder, but that’s exactly what I need to do right now. I can’t leave Lieutenant Nolan behind.

After a quick analysis of my options, I decide to crawl. No transforming. It’s a huge risk, but I can’t just sit here.

This route was supposed to be safe. Our convoys have used it for years. Humanitarian missions are usually left alone by the NFH rebels. Not this time. This is a warning.

I drop to my stomach and scan for the safest path. There’s a shallow ditch running along the road, wet and muddy, but it’s my only cover. I start moving, heart pounding like mad.

In the distance, I hear voices. Then a burst of sharp gunfire.

Shit. This isn’t good.

The second truck is about fifty yards away, out in the open, but I don’t slow down.

In the dim light, I see smoke rising from the vehicle. It’s a miracle it didn’t explode, though that could still happen any second.

I move faster, legs catching on tall grass, tangled roots, and fallen branches. I push through the undergrowth. Two more minutes. One more. I’m close.

A moan pierces the silence: raw, anguished, broken. Then a choked sob.

I know that voice. Lieutenant Hunter Nolan.

Something’s happened. Could it be…?

I don’t let myself guess. I’ve got maybe ten feet left. I crawl with extra caution. This area’s likely under watch. The explosion might’ve drawn militants from farther out.

Finally, I reach the truck. It’s on its side, so I can’t see what’s behind it. I circle around… and freeze.

Lieutenant Nolan is kneeling, cradling his husband’s body in his arms. Field medic, Second Lieutenant Olaf Nolan.

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