Fire and Frost

22

"Knowing it doesn't help."

"No. But it's what we've got."

They stood in silence. The snow beneath them had begun to freeze over, and her tea had gone stone cold in her hands.

After a long pause, Dhruv said, "He would've sent a flare if he could."

"And if they broke his hands?" she said quietly. "If he's unconscious? If he's watching everything fall apart and can't even signal for help?"

He didn't answer.

"I'm going to find a way," she said suddenly. "If this stretches another day, I'll—"

"Anika," Dhruv interrupted. "Don't do something that'll get you court-martialled."

"I ain't a soldier to get court martialled. Neither do I care about that."

"Well, he would."

That stopped her.

He let the silence land. Then added, more gently, "If something shifts, I'll tell you. First thing. Even if I'm not supposed to. You have my word."

She nodded slowly.

He gave her a last glance, then walked off, crunching through the frost.

She stood still for a long time, hands numb, eyes fixed on the snowline beyond the fences. When she finally poured the tea out, it hit the ground in a hiss.

No flare yet.

But silence had begun to feel like smoke. A prelude.

Something was coming.

And she couldn't stand still much longer.

***

She was folding unnecessary paperwork when Dhruv found her again.

Not in logistics. Not in the medical tent. But outside the comms shed, where the concrete edge curved away into packed snow. She sat alone on the old wooden bench left by the signal crew. A half-full mug of black tea rested beside her, untouched. Her gloves were still in her lap, hands bare in the cold.

She didn't turn when she heard his boots.

"Still no flare?" she asked flatly.

"No."

She nodded, as if that made sense. Of course it did.

He stood beside her for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then he sat, close enough to share the quiet.

"But," he said.

Her head jerked. "But?"

"Morning satellite sweep came through. Imaging over Zojila. There's... something."

Her breath held.

"Talk."

"Disturbed snow patterns. Around the ridge behind their camp. Not natural fall. An avalanche, most likely. Big enough to break the upper slope."

She turned to him slowly. "And?"

He hesitated. "There's more. On the eastern descent line. One frame shows disrupted snow. Narrow. Controlled. Like someone moved through it recently."

"A patrol?"

"Too far out to be routine. No support team was sent. No flares logged. Just one trail."

Her voice dropped. "A fight?"

"Possibly," Dhruv said. "There are compression streaks around the southern ridge. Drag marks. Maybe tents got hit. Maybe hand-to-hand."

Her chest tightened. She gripped the bench edge, knuckles white. "And the single track? On the descent?"