General and I

THE EDGE OF MERCY

The office was too quiet.

Damien Cole sat behind his mahogany desk, the faint hum of the lamp casting a low glow across scattered reports. The night outside was still, but his mind wasn’t. Every few minutes, he found himself staring at the same paragraph on the same document and not absorbing a single word.

Her face wouldn’t leave his head.

Leah Sanders the recruit who’d collapsed during training. The one whose trembling lips had tried to form words when he told her to leave, yet said nothing. Her eyes had been wide, wet, and filled with something he couldn’t define not fear, not anger, but a sorrow so deep it had burrowed beneath his skin.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

“Why does it bother me?” he muttered under his breath. He had dismissed soldiers before hundreds of them. Weakness had no place in the military. That was a truth he lived by. But tonight… it didn’t feel like truth. It felt like cruelty.

He had told her to leave the camp.

And yet, the image of her standing frozen, her small frame shaking under the harsh floodlights refused to fade.

“Damn it,” he whispered, pushing away from the desk. The air felt thick. Heavy.

He couldn’t stay in that room another second.

Outside, the night greeted him with silence and the faint scent of earth after drills. He walked without thinking, his boots crunching lightly on gravel. His mind was lost, but his feet knew exactly where to go toward that small secluded spot near the edge of camp, half-hidden by old trees and moonlight.

And when he reached it, he stopped.

There she was.

Leah sat on the ground, knees drawn to her chest, her face buried in her hands. Her long hair, usually tied up, now fell over her shoulders in disarray. The moon’s pale glow touched her skin, making her look almost fragile like a porcelain figure one wrong word could shatter.

Her quiet sobs filled the space between them, soft but heartbreaking.

Damien’s chest tightened. For a moment, he just stood there, unsure whether to speak or leave. But before he could decide, Leah lifted her head, startled by the sound of his step.

Her red, swollen eyes widened when she saw him. She scrambled to her feet, quickly wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“G-General Cole, sir,” she stammered, voice trembling. She tried to stand straight, though her body betrayed her exhaustion.

“At ease,” he said quietly. His tone lacked its usual edge.

Leah swallowed hard. “I I wasn’t doing anything wrong, sir. I just needed air.”

“I know,” he said. He stepped closer, his face unreadable. “You’re supposed to be packing. I told you to leave.”

Her breath hitched. The reminder cut through her like a blade. She lowered her gaze, tears threatening again. “Yes, sir. I’ll go at dawn.”

Damien stared at her at the faint tremble in her hands, the way her shoulders curled inward as if she were trying to hold herself together. Something about that sight broke through his discipline.

“Why are you here, Sanders?” His voice softened. “Why did you sign up for this program?”

Leah hesitated. For a long time, the only sound between them was the wind moving through the leaves. Then, with a shaky breath, she whispered, “For my sister.”

Damien frowned slightly. “Your sister?”

“She’s sick,” Leah said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “She has cancer. I’m all she has left.”

Her voice cracked. She clasped her hands tightly, as if trying to hide the tremor. “We lost our parents years ago. I thought I could handle it the work, the pain as long as it meant saving her. The payment from this program… it’s enough for her treatment. I just need time. Please, sir, I’ll do better.”

Her words pierced the stillness of the night like a prayer too fragile for the world to carry.

Damien’s throat felt tight. He had heard countless pleas before excuses, promises, tears. But none like this. None so honest.

He stared at her really stared.

The way she stood trembling but defiant, the way her voice quivered but didn’t break. She wasn’t weak; she was desperate. There was a difference.

And for the first time in years, Damien felt something inside him twist.

He looked away briefly, struggling to regain control. “You should’ve told someone,” he murmured.

Leah shook her head. “Would it have changed anything?”

He didn’t answer. He knew it wouldn’t have.

The silence stretched again heavy, charged. Damien’s gaze returned to her face, the faint shimmer of tears still clinging to her lashes. There was exhaustion, pain, and something else determination that refused to die.

Without thinking, he stepped closer. “You’re not built for this, Sanders,” he said softly. “But you’re stronger than most I’ve seen.”

Leah blinked, stunned by the rare gentleness in his tone. “Then… please, sir,” she whispered. “Don’t send me away.”

Damien hesitated. Her voice was small, pleading and for a moment, all his training, all his rules, felt meaningless.

He took a slow breath, grounding himself before replying. “If you stay, you’ll follow every order. You’ll give your best no excuses. And if you ever feel like you can’t take it anymore…” He paused, meeting her gaze. “Leave before it breaks you.”

Leah nodded quickly, her eyes glistening. “I promise, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

Damien studied her one last time her tear-streaked face, her trembling lip, the faint hope returning to her expression. A fragile spark in a storm.

Something about her unsettled him in ways he didn’t understand.

“Go back to your dorm,” he said finally. “You start again at dawn.”

Her relief was so palpable it hurt to look at. “Thank you, sir.”

She turned to leave, and for a second, he almost reached out almost but stopped himself. Watching her small frame disappear into the dim light of camp, he felt an ache that shouldn’t exist.

When she was gone, he let out a slow breath and stared up at the pale moon above.

“Dammit,” he muttered. “What are you doing to me?”

Back in his office, the lamp still burned low. Damien sank into his chair, elbows resting on his knees, his mind far from the reports stacked neatly on his desk.

He should’ve let her go. That was the logical thing the military thing. But logic had lost tonight.

“Sanders…” he whispered under his breath, tasting the name like it meant something unfamiliar.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” he said, regaining his composure.

Mason stepped inside, posture sharp. “You called for me, sir?”

“Yes.” Damien’s tone was steady again, though his mind wasn’t. “Find everything you can about Leah Sanders. I want her full file, medical records, background, family, everything.”

Mason blinked in surprise but nodded. “Understood, sir. Any specific reason?”

Damien didn’t look up. “Consider it… routine assessment.”

The lieutenant gave a respectful salute. “I’ll get on it right away.”

When the door closed, Damien leaned back, exhaling heavily.

Routine assessment.

He almost laughed at the lie.

What he wanted wasn’t in her file no document could explain the way her pain had reached him, or why it mattered.

Outside, the night remained still.

Inside, the General who never doubted his decisions sat in silence haunted not by failure, but by the quiet face of a girl who refused to give up.