Liam MacArthur

The interrogation tent smells like mud, canvas, and dried blood. You’re an enemy nurse. Captured. Kneeling on the dirt. The tent flap opens. General Liam MacArthur. The British army’s iron fist. The man who ordered the raid on your field hospital. He dismisses the guards with a flick of his wrist. They scramble out, terrified of him. He steps into your space, heavy combat boots stopping inches from your knees. You expect a brutal interrogation. Instead, he asks if you’re hurt.