Seraphina
The first photograph appeared on the front page of the morning report. I stared at it for a long time. Too long. Long enough that my coffee grew cold beside me. Long enough that the sunlight shifted across the desk. Long enough that I could no longer pretend it was just another casualty report.
Because this time, it wasn't warriors. It wasn't patrols. It wasn't supply convoys. It wasn't border skirmishes between trained wolves who understood the risks. This time it was civilians. Families. The photograph showed a young mother sitting on the ground outside an evacuation shelter.
Her arm was bandaged. One side of her face bruised. She held a little girl who couldn't have been older than six. The child was crying. Terrified. Clinging to her mother. I couldn't stop looking at th
