I slipped my phone into my inner pocket and tightened the straps of my backpack.

A battered pickup truck was parked by the roadside, several passengers already sitting in the back with large packs.

The driver, a bearded local man, was haggling in broken English.

"Astara Gate! Five hundred dollars per person!"

I walked over, pulled out five green bills from my bag, and handed them to him.

"I'm getting on."

The driver held the money up to the light, checked it, then waved me on.

I climbed into the truck bed and found a corner to sit in.

The air in the truck bed smelled of sheep and gasoline.

Next to me sat a bespectacled young man clutching a laptop to his chest.

Across from us was a middle-aged couple, the woman quietly sobbing.

"That's everyone! Let's go!"

The driver slapped the side of the truck.

The pickup jolted violently, spewing black smoke as it surged onto the northern road.

The wind was fierce, stinging my face.

I curled into the corner and pulled up my jacket hood.

As we left the city, the landscape turned desolate.

Abandoned vehicles and scattered luggage littered the roadside.

The sky in the distance was a murky gray-yellow, indistinguishable between dust and gunsmoke.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Adrian's SUV disappearing into the distance.

This was the man I had loved for seven years.

At the edge of life and death, he had taught me the cruelest lesson of all.

The truck jolted, and my head slammed against the metal rail with a dull thud.

It hurt.

But I didn't rub it.

The pain kept me clear-headed.

From this moment on, my life belonged to me alone.

The pickup sped along the road for three hours.

Darkness crept in quickly.

Night fell fast over the Darsen Plateau, and the temperature dropped sharply.

No one spoke in the truck bed, only the wind howled around us.

The young man tightened his grip on the laptop, the sound of his teeth chattering clearly audible.

The middle-aged woman across from me had stopped crying and fallen asleep against her husband's shoulder.

Her husband stayed awake, scanning the surroundings with wary eyes.

"Miss, have some water." The man handed me an army-green canteen.

I shook my head and gestured toward my backpack.

I had water, but I didn't dare drink it.

I didn't know how long the road ahead would be, or what might happen next.

Every drop could mean survival.

Suddenly, the truck lurched violently, followed by a hard brake.

The momentum threw me forward, and I slammed into the young man's back.

"What happened?" someone asked, panic rising in their voice.

The driver jumped out, cursing in another language.

I leaned out to see what was wrong.

The road ahead was gone.

A massive crater split the center of the road, the asphalt shattered like broken biscuits.

Several destroyed cars sat nearby, still smoking.

"The road's blocked! We can't get through!" The driver waved his arms, shouting at us.

"So what do we do? Take a detour?"

The young man with glasses stood up, his voice trembling.

"Detour means two hundred extra kilometers! More money! Two hundred more each!"

The driver held up two fingers.

The middle-aged man stood up angrily. "We already paid! This is robbery!"

The driver shrugged and gestured at the pitch-black wilderness around us.

"No pay, no ride."

A distant howl echoed through the dark, maybe wolves, maybe stray dogs.

No one said another word.

I pulled out two more bills, jumped down, and shoved them into the driver's hand.

"Let's go. Take the detour."

The others followed, handing over more money.

Being left here meant certain death.

The pickup turned around and drove onto a gravel road.

The jolts were ten times worse than before.

My stomach churned violently; I hadn't eaten dinner, and only acid was rising.

I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself not to throw up.

Vomiting would lead to dehydration. Dehydration would leave me too weak to keep going.

I couldn't afford that.

The truck entered a valley.

The signal vanished completely.

I took out my phone. Battery at forty percent.

There was a photo in my gallery, taken at the airport before departure.

Adrian had his arm around me, smiling brightly.

Back then, he had said, "Clara, once this trip's over, let's start trying for a baby."

My finger slid across the screen. I tapped delete.

The photo disappeared, wiped clean along with the trash.

Suddenly, a blinding light appeared ahead.

The driver slammed on the brakes.

Several men in camouflage stood in the middle of the road, faces covered, AK-47s in hand.

They weren't soldiers—they were armed bandits.

"Get out! All of you, out!"

The driver was yanked out and struck across the head with a rifle butt, blood spilling instantly.

We were forced out of the truck bed.

The young man with glasses clutched his laptop desperately, refusing to let go.

"This is company code… I can't give it up…"

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet struck the ground beside his feet, sending up a spray of dirt.

The young man collapsed in terror, and the laptop was ripped from his hands.

My bag was taken too.

Passport, cash, water, food. Everything was gone.

One of the bandits searched me, his rough hands rummaging through my jacket pockets.

He found my phone.

He glanced at it, a cheap phone with a cracked screen.

With a look of disgust, he tossed it back into my arms.

"Get lost!" He shouted in English.

They drove off with the pickup, taking everything with them.

Five of us were left behind in the pitch-black wilderness.

The cold wind cut into my face like blades.

The middle-aged woman broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's over… we're going to die out here…"

I picked up my phone and wiped the dust from the screen.

It still worked.

I looked up at the stars and found the North Star.

"Astara Gate is north."

I zipped my jacket all the way up, covering my chin.

"Let's move. Unless you want to freeze to death."

I was the first to step forward.

The ground was uneven, every step like walking on blades.

But I knew I couldn't stop.

Adrian's car was probably nearing the border by now.

He and Sophie were sitting in a warm cabin, drinking hot water, eating chocolate.

And I was out here in the wilderness, surviving like a stray dog.

A kind of hatred I had never known began to burn in my chest.

Sharper than the cold, stronger than hunger.

It kept me moving, one step after another.

We walked through the entire night. At dawn, we finally reached a road. A sign pointed toward Astara Gate. Thirty kilometers left.

The soles of my shoes were worn through, each step piercing with pain.

The young man had developed a fever and was being carried by the middle-aged man.

We were ragged and filthy, like a group of beggars.

A relief truck marked with a red cross pulled over, and a volunteer jumped down. "Do you need help?"

At the sound of his native language, the middle-aged man dropped to his knees and broke down.

Once on the truck, I devoured half a bottle of water and some bread.

Being alive felt… good.

We reached Astara Gate by noon. It was packed with people.

I stood in the lost documents line when my phone suddenly vibrated. The signal was back.

Dozens of messages flooded in. All from Adrian.

"Where are you? Why isn't your phone going through?"

"There's a document missing from the passport folder. Is it in your bag?"

"Call me back when you see this! Are you trying to get us killed?"

I let out a cold laugh. The only thing he cared about was the document.

I started a video call. Adrian sat in a luxury hotel lobby, well-dressed, while Sophie sipped coffee beside him.

"Clara! Where's the document? Customs is checking. Send me a photo now!"

I raised my phone, showing him my disheveled, mud-streaked, bloodied state, the refugee camp and barbed wire behind me.

Adrian froze for a second. "What happened to you? Forget that. Where's the document?"

"My bag was stolen. The document's gone."

"How could you be so useless!" Adrian snapped. "That file involves equipment worth tens of millions!"

Sophie leaned closer. "Clara, how could you be so careless…"

Looking at the two of them made me sick.

"Adrian, I ran into bandits last night. Someone died right in front of me. I walked thirty kilometers. My shoes are worn through." I tilted the camera down to show my bloodstained shoes.

Adrian frowned. "That's enough. Stop playing the victim. Sophie's running a fever from the shock too. Since you're alive, figure out a way to get to Braska and fix this."

I laughed in anger, tears spilling over.

"Adrian, listen carefully. I'm not going to Braska to find you. When I get back, we're getting divorced."

Adrian sneered. "You're throwing a tantrum at a time like this? Are you done—"

A deafening explosion cut him off.

The checkpoint in the distance exploded, the shockwave throwing people to the ground.

My phone flew from my hand, Adrian's terrified face frozen on the screen.

Then everything went black.

I thought I was dead.

But pain dragged me back.

When I opened my eyes, all I saw was the white ceiling of a tent, the sharp smell of disinfectant filling my nose.

"She's awake! She's awake!" a nurse shouted.

I moved my fingers. Pain shot through my body as if I'd been torn apart.

My left leg was in a cast, suspended in the air.

My head was wrapped in thick bandages.

"This is a temporary medical station in Vespera," a doctor in a white coat said as he stepped closer, shining a light into my eyes.

"You're lucky. The blast knocked you unconscious, but there were no fatal injuries. Just a fracture in your left leg and a mild concussion."

I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry for any sound to come out.

The nurse dabbed my lips with a damp swab.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper.

"Where are your companions?"

the doctor asked.

I wanted to shake my head, but the pain stopped me.

"I don't have any," I said. "I'm alone."

The doctor sighed and made a few notes.

"Get some rest. The embassy staff will come later to register your information and arrange your return."

I stayed in the medical station for two days.

During those two days, I saw many people.

Children who had lost their families. Wives searching for their husbands.

But I didn't look at my phone even once.

They had recovered my phone after the explosion. The screen was shattered, but it still powered on.

I turned it off and shoved it under my pillow.

On the third day, embassy staff arrived.

They verified my identity and issued me a temporary travel document.

"Ms. Hart, there's a Mr. Foster looking for you," the staff member said, glancing at the list in his hand.

"He says he's your husband. He's outside the quarantine area right now."

Hearing his name didn't even quicken my heartbeat.

There was nothing but a hollow, lifeless calm.

"I won't see him," I said.

The staff member froze for a moment.

"He's very anxious. He said if you're alive, we have to tell him."

"Then tell him I'm dead," I said, closing my eyes. "Or tell him I don't know who he is."

The staff member coughed awkwardly.

"I… don't think that's possible. He's listed as your next of kin. And he's already forced his way in."

Before he could finish, the tent flap was yanked open.

Adrian rushed in.