Chapter 15: The Breaking of the Ice

The week ended with a "forced fun" event—a rare movie night in the motor pool. The men were crowded together on crates and Humvee hoods. I found a spot in the back, tucked away in the shadows.

I felt someone sit down next to me. I didn't have to look. The scent of cedar and gun oil was unmistakable.

"You're hiding again," James said quietly.

"I'm just watching, Sir."

"You don't have to watch from the dark anymore, Coraline."

He didn't look at me, and he didn't touch me, but he shifted his weight until his arm was pressed firmly against mine. We sat like that for the entire movie—two soldiers in a room full of men, pretending to watch a screen while our heartbeats raced in a silent, desperate rhythm.

As the credits rolled and the men began to disperse, James stood up. He looked down at me, his face a mask of iron once more.

"Training at 0500, Specialist. Don't be late."

He walked away, but I saw the way his hand lingered on the edge of the crate where I was sitting. He was falling, and he was taking me with him, and for the first time, the "Spotted Witch" wasn't afraid of the fall.