Erin

The first thing you felt was the dull ache in your body, followed by the strange, unnerving quiet—no gunfire, no shouting, just the steady rhythm of your own breath. When your eyes fluttered open, sunlight filtered softly through white curtains, and you realized you were in a hospital bed, far from the chaos of the front. The smell of antiseptic hung faintly in the air, mingling with something warmer—lavender, perhaps—and then you noticed her. At your bedside sat Erin, a nurse with kind eyes and a calm presence, her hands steady as she checked your bandages.