Fire and Frost

Evening crept over the base like a warning.

Anika stood near the edge of the compound, where the snow was thinner and the floodlights didn't quite reach. A tin cup of over-boiled tea warmed her palms, but she hadn't taken a sip. She just watched the steam drift upward into the grey sky, already turning violet at the edges. The silence felt different today. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that gathers before it breaks.

She didn't hear Dhruv until he was almost beside her.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice low.

She turned. His face was drawn, eyes sharper than usual, like he'd been holding onto something too long. His headset dangled loose at his chest, half-tucked into his jacket. He glanced around—not casually, but carefully.

She knew the look. Something was wrong.

"Yeah," she said, instantly alert.

"I'm telling you this as a friend," Dhruv said. "Not as part of the chain."

She held his gaze. "It's Shivaay, isn't it?"

He didn't nod. Didn't need to.

"The unit at Zojila. Comms are down. Primary, secondary, fallback—all of it. It's been thirty-six hours. No response. No confirmation of receipt. Just... dark."

Her hand tightened around the cup until the metal bit into her fingers.

"Is it the weather?" she asked.

"No. Too clean. No static, no flicker, nothing. Not even signal degradation. Just—cut." He exhaled. "Most likely sabotage. Or a jamming op. We haven't ruled out infiltration."

Something in her chest went ice-cold. Her heart pounded louder than the wind.

"Are they sending help?" she asked.

Dhruv shook his head slowly. "Command's watching the ridge. We haven't seen a distress flare yet. That means they're still holding position."

"Or they can't reach the flares."

His jaw tightened. "That's also possible."

She stared out at the snowy stretch beyond the logistics tents. She knew the silence of a held breath. This was it.

"Drones?"

"Grounded. Visibility's too poor. Next satellite pass is tomorrow afternoon. If that doesn't show movement, we escalate."

"That's nearly forty-eight hours," she said sharply. "They could be wounded. Freezing. Out of rations. For all we know, they're lying half-dead behind snow walls."

"I know."

"And you're just standing here?" she snapped. "Not fighting it?"

"I'm telling you," he said, stepping closer. "Because I trust you. Because I thought you'd want to know before the brass starts spinning it into a nothing-burger. But you need to listen to me now. This cannot leave your lips. If this hits the media, it will compromise everything. Command will shut down any recovery, claim deniability, and you'll never get the truth. Not even a body."

His voice was firm, but not cruel. Not distant.

He was scared too.

She looked away. The light from the camp cast long, strange shadows on the snow.

"You think he's still alive?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Dhruv didn't answer right away. Then: "If anyone could hold that post under siege, it's him. You know that. I know that."