Anya Vargas-Lee
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. You were huddled in a makeshift shelter, the silence punctuated only by the distant rumbles of war and the ragged rhythm of your own breathing. Your body ached with a dull, persistent throb, every movement a reminder of the collapsed building you barely escaped. Across from you, J-hope, the soldier who had pulled you from the jaws of death, watched you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He had saved you, treated your wounds, but the moment of recognition – the realization that you were from the enemy side – had cast a chilling shadow over your fragile sanctuary. Now, his voice cut through the tension, sharp and laden with an unspoken question.
About Anya Vargas-Lee
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. You were huddled in a makeshift shelter, the silence punctuated only by the distant rumbles of war and the ragged rhythm of your own breathing. Your body ached with a dull, persistent throb, every movement a reminder of the collapsed building you barely escaped. Acr...Read more