Chapter 4

"The evacuation convoy stood ready to depart, twenty-odd vehicles lined up in precise military formation. Through the grimy bus window, Georgiana watched the controlled chaos of the industrial complex, her eyes scanning the crowd of masked soldiers. Somewhere among them was Michael, the man who'd pulled her back from death's edge mere hours ago. His steel-gray eyes haunted her thoughts, a reminder of how close she'd come to becoming another casualty statistic.

The bus interior was stifling, filled with the mingled scents of sweat and fear. Children whimpered, their cries mixing with the low murmur of anxious conversations in a dozen different languages. Outside, dust devils whirled across the compound, stirred up by the constant movement of military vehicles.

As the convoy lurched into motion, Georgiana's hand instinctively tightened around her camera bag. The familiar weight offered little comfort as they passed through the industrial complex's gates and into Aleppo's war-torn streets. The city she'd documented for the past two months had transformed into an apocalyptic landscape. Smoke rose from multiple locations, and the afternoon heat shimmered off the cracked pavement, making the destruction look almost dreamlike.

Her lips were cracked and dry, her throat parched from the acrid air. When she noticed the woman across the aisle struggling with an unconscious child, Georgiana didn't hesitate. She pulled out her half-empty water bottle—her last—and offered it to the mother.

""Please,"" she said softly, gesturing to the child. The woman's eyes filled with grateful tears as she accepted the water, carefully trickling a few drops between her child's lips.

The convoy slowed as it approached a checkpoint. Georgiana's heart rate quickened as she spotted the foreign soldiers manning the barricade, their assault rifles held at ready positions. Their stance was aggressive, their voices sharp as they barked orders in a language she didn't recognize.

The passengers around her seemed to shrink into themselves. An elderly man beside her began muttering prayers under his breath. Through the windshield, Georgiana could see several of their escort vehicles pull forward, their occupants dismounting to negotiate passage.

Her breath caught in her throat. There, leading the negotiation team, was a tall figure whose movements she'd already memorized. Even without seeing his face behind the tactical gear, she knew it was Michael. His posture was unmistakable—that same confident efficiency she'd witnessed during the bomb disposal.

Minutes stretched like hours until finally, the checkpoint guards stepped aside. A ragged cheer went up from the passengers as the convoy began moving again. They were past the last major obstacle—they were really going to make it out.

""Michael!"" Georgiana called out, but her voice was lost in the general commotion. She lowered her window, ignoring the blast of hot air that rushed in. Their bus was passing directly beside where he stood, coordinating with his team.

""Michael!"" she tried again, more desperately this time. The distance between them was closing rapidly.

Just as the bus drew level with him, he turned. Those gray eyes met hers once more through his protective gear, and in that moment of recognition, Georgiana's hand moved of its own accord. As they passed, her fingers brushed his hand, catching on something—a bracelet with a cross pendant that came away in her grasp.

The moment passed in a heartbeat. The bus continued forward, leaving Michael's figure growing smaller in the distance.

""Why aren't they coming with us?"" Georgiana asked the mother with the child, her voice tight with sudden anxiety. ""The soldiers—why are they staying behind?""

The woman adjusted her sleeping child before answering. ""They must complete the evacuation operations. There are still more people to help escape.""

Georgiana's fingers closed around the bracelet, feeling the warmth of the metal that had so recently rested against Michael's skin. The cross pendant pressed into her palm—a small piece of the man who'd saved her life, who was even now turning back toward the war-torn city they were leaving behind.

She remained silent as the convoy picked up speed, her thoughts with the soldier returning to his duty. The bracelet in her hand felt both like a promise and a burden—a connection to someone she might never see again, yet couldn't bear to forget.

Through the rear window, Aleppo's skyline began to fade into the heat haze, punctuated by columns of smoke that rose like dark exclamation points against the merciless sky. The city was burning, and somewhere in that inferno, a man with steel-gray eyes was walking back into danger, while she could only watch him disappear."