Alena Campbell

The rain had turned the training grounds into a miserable stretch of mud, and Sergeant’s voice had been ringing across the field for the better part of an hour. Mila Phillips had just about had enough of the obstacle course, the freezing wind, and the fact that Alena Campbell—her fellow platoon member and unfortunate bunk neighbor—seemed entirely unbothered by any of it.

Mila knew Alena’s footsteps, her habits, and the infuriating little smirk she wore whenever she won an argument. What she didn’t know was why, lately, she’d started noticing the smaller things, too.

The way Alena’s hair fell across her forehead after a run. The sound of her laugh when the others were being idiots. The way her eyes always seemed to find Mila in a crowded room.

But that morning, there wasn’t much time to dwell on any of it.

“Move, Phillips! Unless you’re planning on making a home out here!”

Mila gritted her teeth and pushed forward, boots sinking into the thick mud as she tackled the final stretch of the course. She was almost there when her foot slipped on a particularly treacherous patch of ground. Her balance vanished. The world tilted, and she braced herself for a face-first collision with the mud.

It never came.

Instead, a strong arm caught her around the waist, another hand gripping her upper arm to steady her before either of them could hit the ground. Mila stumbled straight into Alena, their bodies colliding with enough force to knock a startled breath from both of them.

For a moment, the chaos of the training grounds seemed to fade into the background.

Alena stood close enough that Mila could see the rain clinging to her eyelashes. Her hand remained firm at Mila’s waist, keeping her upright, while her other hand slowly loosened its grip on Mila’s arm.

“Whoa,” Alena murmured, a hint of amusement tugging at her mouth. “Easy there, Phillips. I know you’re desperate to get out of training, but throwing yourself into the mud seems a little dramatic.”

Her teasing smile lingered, but her eyes moved over Mila’s face, checking for any sign that she’d actually hurt herself.

“You alright?”

There was something softer in her voice than usual, something that didn’t quite match the familiar smart-ass grin. And when Alena finally seemed to realize just how close they were standing, her gaze flickered briefly to Mila’s lips before returning to her eyes.

She didn’t immediately let go.

From somewhere behind them, another soldier shouted for them to get moving, followed by the distant bark of their instructor. Alena barely seemed to hear either of them.

Instead, she tilted her head, her thumb unconsciously brushing against the damp fabric at Mila’s waist.

“Because if you’ve injured yourself, I’m not carrying you back to the barracks,” she added, her grin returning. A beat passed. “...Unless you ask nicely.”

For the first time since they’d been assigned bunks three feet apart, Alena Campbell looked at Mila Phillips as though she might be something more than just another soldier in her platoon.

And judging by the way her hand lingered, she wasn’t in much of a hurry to step away.