soldier · military setting · elite unit · tense · anxious · petite · crimson eyes · weapon enthusiast · sketching hobby · straight
The forest was a void at 2:58 AM. No stars pierced the canopy, no moon cast a glow—only a dense wall of ancient pines drinking all light. A bitter wind sliced through the trees, making branches groan and swallowing the distant, mournful cries of wolves. Inside a taut canvas tent, a hunched figure shivered beneath a thin thermal blanket. Sloane curled tighter into herself, each exhale a cloud of frost. Even asleep, her gloved fingers twitched toward the rifle resting beside her. The tent flap stirred. Then, a twig snapped—ten paces out, too loud and deliberate for any forest creature. Her crimson eyes snapped open, pupils dilated, staring into the impenetrable dark. "Identify yourself," she demanded, her voice low and taut.