Chapter 12
The Eastern European borderlands were a mosaic of devastation—shattered buildings, desperate civilians, and the constant soundtrack of artillery fire. Kimberly moved between wounded bodies, her scrubs soaked with blood and sweat, muscles burning from sixteen straight hours of triage work. Only when the relief medical team finally arrived did she allow herself to slump onto an abandoned ammunition crate. She massaged her aching calves, staring absently at the distant horizon where smoke from the morning’s bombardment still hung like a dirty curtain.
Her original plan after leaving Boston had been straightforward—finish her degree at a London dance program and start fresh. But the trauma she’d endured manifested as severe depression. Nights became a carousel of nightmares—hands holding her down, cigarettes burning her skin, hot sauce scorching her throat. She’d wake up gasping, finding clumps of hair on her pillow from stress-induced alopecia.
When she first learned about the Breaking Dawn Project during an information session at her university, something resonated. Within weeks, she’d abandoned her dance career to train as an emergency medical responder. The past six months had taken her through three active conflict zones. The brutal pace and constant crisis left no mental space for dwelling on the past. Between triaging blast injuries and consoling traumatized children, Boston felt like another lifetime.
“Kim! Got some juicy news!” Olivia Linnderman jogged over, her Australian accent somehow remaining cheerful despite their grim surroundings.
Kimberly snapped back to the present. “Has the ceasefire been approved?”
“That would be a miracle beyond miracles,” Olivia laughed, plopping down beside her. She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “We’ve got a new communications specialist in our sector. Word is he’s drop-dead gorgeous, crazy rich, and single…”
Kimberly’s interest evaporated instantly. She’d genuinely loved exactly one man in her life. That same man had systematically destroyed her, piece by piece, and then handed her over to monsters with his blessing.
Olivia, aware of Kimberly’s romantic trauma but not its specifics, nudged her shoulder. “Listen, emotional wounds need emotional healing. We’ve all dealt with assholes, right? Someone as beautiful and compassionate as you deserves a fresh start with someone who’ll actually appreciate you.”
Kimberly barely registered Olivia’s pep talk. Her mind kept drifting to the nightmares that still occasionally plagued her—Jayden’s cold eyes as he dismissed her life as worthless.
“Come on,” Olivia tugged at her arm. “Let’s go check out the new guy. Rumor has it he’s setting up equipment near the mess tent.”
Kimberly shook her head, finally refocusing. “You go ahead. I’m beat.”
“You sure? It might do you good to just—”
“I’m sure. Really. Maybe tomorrow.”
Seeing Kimberly’s firm expression, Olivia relented. “Fine, but I’m bringing back a full report—height, eye color, and whether or not he has an accent!”
Midnight arrived with renewed artillery fire. Kimberly jolted awake to the sounds of shouting and explosions. She grabbed a jacket over her sleep clothes and ran outside into controlled chaos. Injured civilians were being carried toward the medical tents, their cries mixing with shouted orders. Someone pointed toward a collapsed structure in the distance. “More wounded over there! We need help!”
Without hesitation, Kimberly sprinted in that direction, weaving between debris and craters. As she neared the site, the night sky lit up with a blinding flash—an artillery shell exploding less than fifty yards away. Shrapnel cut through the air directly toward her.
In that fraction of a second, a tall figure lunged from her peripheral vision, tackling her to the ground and covering her body with his own.