Qingran was waiting when he finally stood. He handed the phone back silently, his expression unreadable but his eyes shining with something fierce and fragile.
"Thank you," he said simply.
She nodded. "You deserved to hear him. Even if just for a while."
The signal cut out.
Feng Yizhou slipped the phone into his pack, still feeling the echo of her voice lingering in his mind. The moment had ended, but the weight of it pressed down on him, sharp and clear.
Six minutes.
Only six, and yet it had filled a hollowness in his chest he hadn't even known was so deep.
He stood on the roof of the command outpost, wind tugging at his coat, sand and grit stinging the exposed skin on his face. The skies here were heavy with dust, darker than the haze he remembered from before the world fell apart.
Still, compared to the constant tension and heat inside the outpost, the rooftop felt like the only place he could breathe.
She was alive.
Qingran. His Qingran.
