Amnesia Stolen His Love

The rain hammered against the roof of my hiding spot as I struggled to steady my breathing. Five days in enemy territory had taken their toll. My fever wasn't improving—if anything, it was getting worse.

"Position secure," I managed to whisper into the radio, though my voice sounded foreign even to my own ears. "Target still on schedule."

Back at camp, I knew Luz would be performing her daily ritual of concern. I'd heard reports from Marcus about her elaborate shows of worry—how she visited the command center every morning with fresh coffee for the officers monitoring my transmissions, her face a perfect mask of anxiety.

"I'm so worried about Amyra," she would say, her voice trembling just enough. "She's always been so brave, but this mission..."

The officers would nod sympathetically, unaware that behind closed doors, Luz celebrated each passing day I remained in enemy territory.

"The General's precious daughter is finally learning her place," she'd laugh with Isabella and the other USO performers. "Let's hope she stays there."

I adjusted my position, trying to find comfort on the hard concrete. My body ached with every movement.

---

Nathan paced the perimeter of the command center, his face haggard from sleepless nights.

"We need to organize a rescue team," he insisted, his voice cracking. "Amyra's been out there too long."

Luz appeared at his side, her expression carefully crafted into one of supportive concern. "Nathan, I understand how you feel," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. "But remember what happened with your sister."

The mention of his sister made him flinch. Luz knew exactly which buttons to push.

"You acted impulsively then," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you rush into this without proper planning, you might lose Amyra forever—just like you lost her."

Nathan's shoulders slumped as the weight of his past trauma crashed over him. "What if something happens to her?"

"Trust in her training," Luz said, though her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Besides, the General hasn't requested a rescue. Perhaps he knows something we don't."

---

General Torres studied the map spread across his desk, the lines around his eyes deepening with each passing hour. When the knock came, he straightened immediately.

"Enter," he called, his voice carrying the authority that had earned him respect across three continents.

Luz stepped in, her posture perfect, her expression solemn. "General Torres," she began, her voice soft with practiced respect. "I wanted to check on you. Everyone sees how hard this is on you."

The General's defenses weakened slightly at her apparent concern. "Thank you, Miss Moore. I'm managing."

"I was actually a friend of Amyra's," Luz said, sliding into the chair across from him. "We grew up together, though we drifted apart when she joined the military."

The General's eyebrow raised slightly. "I don't recall Amyra mentioning you."

"She might not have," Luz said, her eyes downcast. "Especially after...well, after she saw how close you and Nathan became."

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small notebook. "I found this among her things. I probably shouldn't show it to you, but I'm worried about her mental state."

The General took the notebook, flipping to the page Luz had marked. The handwriting looked like Amyra's—close enough to fool someone who wasn't looking too carefully.

"I can't stand seeing them together," the entry read. "Nathan is MINE. If he chooses her over me, I'll make him regret it."

The General's face paled as he read the words. "This doesn't sound like my daughter."

"Jealousy changes people," Luz said softly. "I think she volunteered for this mission out of desperation—to prove something to Nathan."

---

My fever spiked that night, the world around me blurring into shapes and shadows. I knew I was in trouble when I knocked over my canteen, sending it clattering across the concrete floor.

Footsteps approached my hiding spot. Enemy soldiers, their voices low as they searched the area.

"American sniper," one of them muttered. "Somewhere in this sector."

I pressed myself against the wall, willing my body to stop shaking. The medication I'd been taking was barely keeping me functional anymore.

When they finally moved on, I knew I couldn't stay put. With trembling legs, I climbed to the roof of the building, rain soaking through my clothes as I established a new position.

The enemy commander's convoy would pass through in less than twelve hours. If I missed this opportunity, there wouldn't be another.

I reached for my medical kit with shaking hands. Inside lay the small vial of prohibited stimulants and pain suppressants—medications that could keep me conscious and functioning beyond my body's limits.

The warning label was clear: "May cause permanent damage to vocal cords."

I stared at the vial for a long moment, rain mixing with the tears on my cheeks. Without the medication, I might not survive the next twelve hours. With it, I might lose my voice forever.

The choice wasn't really a choice at all.