A Silent Rescue
1229 Words
The night was darker than ink, the kind of darkness that swallowed sound and swallowed secrets.
From inside the cabin, Yuna could hear faint voices outside, low and sharp, speaking in a language that seemed to slice the cold air in half.
Then she saw them through the narrow c***k in the wooden shutter.
Three armed soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. They weren’t part of Jun’s squad.
Her heart froze.
A northern patrol.
They were questioning Hana. Even from here, Yuna could see Hana’s tight stance, the flicker of nerves hidden beneath rigid discipline.
Inside, Jun was too silent. He was crouched by the doorway, rifle in hand, every sense razorsharp. His jaw flexed, eyes darting between Yuna and the window.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
“Internal Security,” he said. “They monitor the border units.”
Her stomach dropped. “They’ll find me.”
“Not if you stay quiet.”
But she could see something else in his face, something that terrified her even more.
He wasn’t sure he could protect her this time.
Outside, boots crunched against frost. A harsh male voice demanded, “We were told there’s a civilian crash near this sector. You reported nothing?”
Jun stepped out, the cabin door closing softly behind him.
Yuna pressed her ear to the wood.
“Negative, sir,” Jun’s voice replied, smooth, calm, a soldier’s mask. “We found wreckage in the forest, but no survivors. The pilot must’ve burned.”
The interrogator laughed coldly. “Must’ve? Or did?”
Jun didn’t blink. “We buried what we could find.”
For a moment, silence stretched so thin it might have broken.
Then another voice, Daeho's. “Captain’s telling the truth. We all saw it.”
Yuna recognized the tremor in his tone. They were all lying for her.
Inside, Yuna paced, every heartbeat echoing like gunfire.
She thought of the life she’d left behind Seoul’s bright lights, the endless schedule, the glittering parties where everything sparkled but nothing felt real.
And now here she was in a wooden cabin at the edge of a forbidden border waiting for one man’s words to decide if she lived or died.
A knock broke through the silence.
Jun slipped back inside, his face unreadable.
“They’re gone,” he said finally.
Yuna exhaled shakily, her legs giving way. He caught her before she hit the floor, his arms steady around her shoulders.
“You did it,” she whispered. “You lied to me.”
“I told the truth,” he said softly, his breath brushing her hair. “You died in that crash, remember?”
When she looked up at him, their faces were only inches apart.
“Then why do you keep saving me?” she asked.
His gaze lingered deep, searching, dangerous. “Because I don’t want to see you disappear twice.”
Hana entered suddenly, her voice brisk to hide emotion. “The patrol left a warning. They’re coming back tomorrow.”
Jun nodded grimly. “We’ll have to move her.”
“Move me?” Yuna asked.
“To another village, one off record. Fewer patrols, more civilians.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be stationed nearby,” he said. “Close enough to keep watch.”
The way he said it made her chest ache.
They began preparing at dawn. Minjae packed dry rations; Daeho charted a path through the valley. Hana adjusted Yuna’s disguise to a dull brown shawl, rough skirt, and soot streaks on her face to dim the brightness of her skin.
Yuna caught her reflection in the tin mirror, a stranger looking back.
“You look like us now,” Hana said softly.
Yuna smiled faintly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today.”
Hana’s expression softened a rare thing. “He’s risking everything, you know.”
Yuna’s voice trembled. “So are you.”
“Difference is,” Hana replied, tightening the shawl around her shoulders, “he’s not supposed to care.”
By midafternoon, the group moved through the forest in near silence. The air smelled of pine and snow. Each crunch of Yuna’s boots made her wince when she felt every sound like a heartbeat too loud.
Daeho scouted ahead, Minjae covered their flank, and Jun walked beside her, his hand occasionally brushing hers never enough to be seen, but enough to feel.
They reached a clearing. Ahead, the valley dipped sharply toward a frozen stream.
Jun halted suddenly.
A faint metallic click echoed.
“Mine,” he hissed. “Everyone is freezing.”
Yuna froze midstep, terror icing her blood. The smallest movement could set off the buried charge beneath her foot.
Jun crouched beside her, his breath shallow.
“Don’t move,” he said, voice low, steady, but his eyes betrayed the fear he couldn’t show.
“I wasn’t planning to,” she whispered, panic rising.
He pressed his hand over hers. “Look at me. Just me.”
Their eyes locked and for a moment, the world narrowed to that single heartbeat between them.
He slid his knife under the snow, cutting through frozen roots until he found the edge of the trigger. Every motion was deliberate, slow. The faintest mistake could end them both.
Finally click.
The tension released.
“Step back,” he said.
She did, trembling. He pulled the mine free, disarmed it, and tossed it aside.
When she exhaled, tears stung her eyes. “You could’ve died.”
“So could you.”
“Why didn’t you let me handle it?” she snapped the fear spilling over as anger.
He met her gaze quietly. “Because I couldn’t watch you disappear again.”
Her lips parted a protest, a plea but before she could speak, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
The touch was soft, hesitant and then gone.
They reached the safe village by nightfall, a quiet place tucked between the mountains, its lanterns glowing faintly in the mist.
The locals barely looked at them; they were used to new faces trying to blend in.
Inside a small stone house, Yuna sat by the hearth while Jun stood by the doorway, watching the snow fall outside.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I will go back to my unit. You’ll stay here until it’s safe.”
Yuna’s throat tightened. “And if it never is?”
He turned and for the first time, his expression cracked, the weight of everything they weren’t saying filling the silence.
“Then I’ll find another way,” he said quietly. “I always do.”
As he turned to leave, Yuna caught his hand.
“Jun,” she whispered. “Don’t disappear on me either.”
He hesitated just long enough for her to see it: the flicker of emotion behind his soldier’s calm.
Then he lifted her hand to his lips, brushing it with the faintest kiss not quite love, not yet, but the beginning of something far more dangerous.
And without another word, he was swallowed once more by snow and silence.
Yuna sat alone by the fire, her heart burning in the dark.
For the first time, she realized the truth she’d been avoiding:
This wasn’t just survival anymore.
It was something far more fragile and far more impossible to escape.
- Writer
