"You're lying."
The words settled over Elara like a noose. She fought to keep her expression calm, innocent.
"I'm not," she replied, lifting her chin just slightly.
Damon's gaze narrowed. "You flinch at loud sounds like a woman who's heard bombs drop. You hold yourself like someone who's walked red carpets, not red dirt roads."
Her heart beat louder.
He stepped closer. "You don't belong here."
"Maybe I don't," she snapped. "But I'm surviving. Isn't that what you're doing too?"
That gave him pause. For a heartbeat, something softened in his eyes—a flicker of something deeply buried.
Then it was gone.
"You'll stay here," he said. "In the camp. Under supervision."
"What? Why?"
"You're a security risk. Until we know who you really are."
Elara stood up, panic rising. "You can't keep me here."
He simply turned and walked out.
---
The tent Damon assigned her was spartan—a cot, a blanket, and a canteen of water. Outside, a guard named Sergeant Ajani kept silent watch. He was broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, and moved like a predator. Damon's right-hand man.
Elara quickly realized: Ajani didn't talk. He watched.
From dawn until dusk.
She wasn't allowed to leave the camp.
Each day, Damon returned, asking her more questions.
Where was she from?
Who taught her English?
What school had she attended?
She answered vaguely, but she knew her time was running out.
One afternoon, she caught Ajani watching her again. But this time, he seemed to hesitate.
She walked up to him slowly. "You don't like me much, do you?"
Silence.
"You don't trust me," she said.
Still nothing.
Then: "The General doesn't trust easily. But he trusts me. So I watch."
His voice was deep. Rough.
"And what do you see?" she asked.
Ajani turned to her fully. "I see a woman hiding in a world she doesn't understand."
Elara blinked.
"But I also see a woman the General watches when he thinks no one notices."
---
That night, Damon came to her tent again.
"Are you ready to tell me the truth?"
She met his eyes. "Why do you care so much?"
He didn't answer.
But he stepped closer. The air between them changed—charged with something that had nothing to do with war.
"You look like someone I once knew," he said.
She swallowed. "A lover?"
"A ghost."
The silence was unbearable.
"I don't want to be your prisoner," she whispered.
"Then give me a reason not to see you as one."
He left.
And for the first time in days, she cried herself to sleep.
---
Meanwhile, Cora had embedded herself into village life. She smiled at elders, played with children, and slowly poisoned Elara's name.
"She speaks like white people. Thinks she's better than us," she whispered to one woman.
"She seduces soldiers," she told another.
Rumors spread like fire.
And Damon heard them.
One morning, he stood at the center of the camp, reading a note. He crumpled it slowly.
Then he turned to Ajani.
"Find out everything about Elira. Everything."
Ajani nodded and walked off.
Elara, sitting nearby, saw the storm in Damon's eyes.
And she knew:
If she didn't tell him the truth soon, he would tear her world apart to find it.
---