Chapter 2

The explosion hit at four in the morning.

The shockwave threw me from the bed. Edward was already gone. Outside the window, the sky was on fire, and the sound of automatic gunfire echoed from just beyond the embassy walls.

I grabbed a coat and ran downstairs to find our senior counselor, George Lowe, directing staff to move filing cabinets.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"The Freedom Front blew the main water line to the west district," he yelled, his face slick with sweat. "The government troops are fighting back, and stray rounds are coming into the compound. Get to the basement now."

The basement was packed, the air feeling suffocating. I counted twelve embassy staff, seven family members, and three visiting technicians. Clara was in a corner, a thick notebook open on her lap, scribbling furiously by the light of an emergency lamp.

"Where's Edward?" I asked one of the aides.

"He's on the radio in the attic," the young man said, pointing up. "Contacting the evacuation command."

I pushed through the crowd and scrambled up the narrow stairs. Edward had his back to me, speaking in a low, urgent voice into an old shortwave radio, "I repeat, nineteen personnel remaining. Requesting confirmation of LZ coordinates. What? Did you say only twelve seats?"

A burst of static crackled from the receiver, followed by a muffled voice in English. "Limited capacity. Prioritize technical personnel and women."

Edward's body went rigid. He was silent for so long that I thought the signal had cut out. Then, he spoke flatly, "Understood. We will manage the overage on our end."

He turned and saw me standing in the shadows. For a split second, panic flashed across his face before being replaced by his usual calm composure.

He said, "Evelyn. You're just in time. There's been a change of plans. The chopper can only take twelve."

"And?" I asked.

"And," he said, walking toward me and placing his hands on my shoulders, "you'll have to wait for the next one."

I stared into his eyes. Something flickered there, but it wasn't guilt. It was the cold calculation of a man who had already weighed his options.

"When is the next one?" I asked.

"Three days," he said, his fingers tightening. "I promise, Evelyn. In three days, I will come back for you."

A scream erupted from downstairs, followed by the sharp sound of shattering glass. Edward shoved me against the wall, shielding me with his body as a stray bullet punched through the attic window, burning a black hole in the floorboards.

"It's too dangerous," he gasped. "You need to get back downstairs."

"And what about you?" I asked.

"I've got duties here," he replied.

He pulled me down the stairs, his pace so hurried it was almost a drag. In the basement, Clara was on her feet, clutching her notebook to her chest. Edward's gaze went past me and settled on her for three long seconds.

"Listen up," he announced, clearing his throat. "The helicopter will be on the roof in twenty minutes. Due to capacity limits, the first evac list is as follows: Clara Whitman, George Lowe, Mell Ford..."

He read eleven names. Mine was not among them.

"The last spot," he said, his voice dropping, his eyes finally finding mine before darting away. "Evelyn Lane, you... The map of the mineral vein is a matter of national security."

Clara suddenly cut in, her voice as calm as if she were discussing the weather. "I'll stay. Let her go."

"No," Edward retorted immediately. "Your value..."

"My value is in my head, not on a helicopter," she interrupted him. "I can wait three days. But Evelyn is a civilian. She has no specialized training. It's more dangerous for her to remain here."

Every eye in the room turned to me. My face burned with a raw, public humiliation instead of gratitude.

Edward's lips parted as if to speak, but he just gave a curt nod. "Fine. Clara stays. Evelyn goes."

I looked at him, this man I had shared a bed with for four years. His eyes avoided mine, and his right hand subconsciously fiddled with the wedding band on his left.

I remembered the night before we first deployed, him twisting that same ring, telling me I needed to be "understanding."

"I'm not going," I said.

Edward stared at me. "What?"

"I'm not going," I repeated, my own voice trembling with a rage I couldn't contain. "Let Clara go. She's more important than me, isn't she? Isn't that what you've believed all along?"

The basement fell silent.

Clara frowned. "Evelyn, this isn't the time to be emotional."

"I'm not being emotional," I shot back, fixing my gaze on Edward. "I'm giving you a choice. Make it, Edward. Choose your national interest or choose your wife."

It was the last chance I would ever give him.

I watched him struggle, his eyes flitting between me and Clara. It took three seconds, maybe only two, for him to decide.

He walked toward Clara, pulling the thin boarding pass from his pocket. "Clara," he said firmly. "Your country needs you."

He didn't look at me. Not once.

The roar of the helicopter's rotors grew louder, the downdraft sending dust and debris swirling down from the rooftop.

I squinted as Edward shielded Clara, helping her onto the rope ladder. He paused at the door of the chopper, and for a moment I thought he would look back, but someone behind him pushed him inside.

The hatch slid shut, and the helicopter lifted into the lead-gray sky. I stood on the edge of the roof, watching the black dot shrink to a pinprick and then vanish completely.

I heard George's voice from behind me. "Evelyn, get down. There's another wave of attacks coming."

I turned, about to tell him I was fine, but the look of terror on his face was the last thing I saw.

Then came a deafening roar, and the world turned red.