Chapter 2 - The Silent Truce
The darkness was an active enemy. It crept in from the corners of the cellar, threatening to swallow the tiny beam of Kaelen's flashlight.
For two hours, neither man spoke. The tension in the air was thicker than the dust. Julian lay against his pile of debris, his hands pressed hard against his bleeding thigh, his face pale and slick with sweat. Across the room, Kaelen sat shivering, his dislocated shoulder locked in a painful angle.
"If we stay like this," Julian said, his voice weak, "we both die. I’ll bleed out, and you’ll starve in the dark."
Kaelen looked up, his hazel eyes glinting in the blue light. "You want me to help an Alliance dog?"
"I want to see my family again," Julian said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I assume you do too. My thigh is torn. I need a tourniquet. Your shoulder is out. You need leverage to pop it back in. We can kill each other tomorrow. Today, we work."
Kaelen stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. The silence stretched until a small chunk of concrete broke off the ceiling, shattering near Kaelen’s boot. It was a reminder that time was running out.
With a heavy groan, Kaelen dragged himself across the dusty floor, his boots scraping against the rubble. He stopped a foot away from Julian. Up close, Julian could see that Kaelen wasn't a monster. He looked like any of the farmers from Julian’s home province—tired, dirty, and remarkably young.
"Grab my good arm," Kaelen instructed, his voice tight. "When I tell you, pull. Hard."
Julian reached up, his rough hand wrapping around Kaelen’s right wrist. Kaelen positioned himself against a sturdy concrete pillar.
"Now!" Kaelen barked.
Julian pulled with all the strength left in his upper body. Kaelen threw his weight backward. A loud, wet crack echoed through the basement. Kaelen let out a sharp yell, collapsing forward onto his knees, his forehead resting against Julian’s dusty boot. For a minute, he only breathed, his shoulder finally resting in its proper socket.
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Without a word, Kaelen sat up, took his combat knife, and sliced a long, clean strip of fabric from the hem of his own grey coat. He leaned over Julian’s leg, his hands surprisingly gentle as he tied the fabric tightly above the wound, twisting it with a piece of rebar until the bleeding stopped.
"There," Kaelen panted, sitting back on his heels. "The truce is signed."
