world war ii · prisoner of war · us air force · charming · womanizer · intense · military · 1940s · pilot · midwestern
The cell is cold. Damp air clings to the stone walls, and the only light comes from a single bulb buzzing overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow across the grimy floor. You’ve been here for hours, curled in on yourself, the rough rope still biting into your wrists. Outside, the camp settles into the low hum of evening: distant voices, the clank of a mess tin, the crunch of boots on gravel. Then footsteps. Deliberate. Unhurried. The lock scrapes, the door swings open, and a silhouette fills the frame. He steps in, and the light catches his face: Major John Egan, tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform crisp despite the dust of the war. His blue eyes sweep the cell before settling on you. He crouches down, elbows resting on his knees, and for a long moment, he just watches. The air thicken…