Daphne was transferred to a hastily erected field hospital near the front lines under the guise of ‘monitoring her health’.

Her designated space was surrounded on all sides by thin curtains, and one of her hands was tied up with rope.

Although they called it a hospital, it was nothing more than a prison by another name.

Only one nurse was assigned to her. Aside from that woman, she hadn’t seen another living soul.

“If you’re found out, I’ll kill you.”

She tormented herself with those words every single day.

Who was Allen Howard?

What was it like to live as that person?

But she couldn’t just pull a military nurse aside and ask.

One wrong question could cost her her life.

This was Phozmeri, the mighty nation that had destroyed her homeland, Astasha.

The animosity here ran deep, almost poisonous.

She often heard people spouting hate-filled slurs about her country from behind the curtain.

That alone made it impossible to ask anything.

‘I want to live.’

Daphne sat on the white sheets, curled up with her face pressed against her knees.

She still remembered nothing.

Aside from her name and nationality, not a shred of her past had resurfaced.

She didn’t know if she had parents or siblings, where she had lived or what her life had been like.

Strangely, she didn’t feel any urge to long for any of it.

It was as if all her emotions had been drained dry.

And yet, Daphne wanted to live.

This desire burned most fiercely whenever she thought of the man who had interrogated her on the first day.

He was undoubtedly a high-ranking Phozmeri officer.

But why did she feel such an overwhelming sense of familiarity whenever she thought of him?

‘Maybe I really am insane.’

She had no memories, perhaps it was a reasonable thought.

Several days passed, everything blurred as if she were standing inside a fog. The hospital remained quiet; with the war essentially over, there were almost no casualties.

“Major.”

“How is her condition?”

Along with the medical officer’s crisp greeting, Daphne recognized a familiar voice.

It was the man who had interrogated her on her first day there.

This was his first visit since her arrival at the field hospital.

Holding her breath, Daphne listened closely to the conversation taking place just outside the curtain.

“Her vitals are normal, and she hasn’t shown any unusual behavior.”

“I see. Leave us.”

“Yes, sir!”

The officer’s footsteps faded as he walked down the hallway.

The man tore open the curtain as though he were about to rip it off its hinges.

There was no hint of gentleness in his movements.

With one arm still bound, Daphne lifted her gaze.

The brim of his cap cast an impenetrable shadow across his face.

Her bed was always kept in darkness, making it almost impossible to see him clearly.

But then their eyes met. Even in the dim light, the blue of his eyes — reminiscent of the deep sea — pierced the darkness with astonishing clarity.

And in that moment, something surfaced.

A sudden flash, like a lighthouse beam slicing through thick fog.

Not a memory, but a feeling.

“…You.”

The first word slipped from her dry lips.

The man looked down at her, his gaze steady, as if surprised.

Startled by her own impulsive outburst, Daphne closed her mouth at once.

He drew the curtain closed behind him and stepped closer.

“Say it.”

“……”

“What were you about to say?”

Not a trace of displeasure colored his gentle voice.

Standing right before her, he smiled beneath the shadow of his cap—cold and rigid.

“Speak, Miss Winfred.”

“No, I— I’m sorry…”

“Are you asking me to kill you?”

“……”

“If that’s what you want, you can say so plainly.”

His tone was almost conversational, as if asking after her well-being.

“But if not—”

He touched her chin with his index and middle fingers.

The sensation was light, almost insect-like, but still unpleasant.

“Speak. Now.”

If she remained silent for much longer, he might actually kill her.

Daphne berated herself for her foolish outburst earlier, and finally managed to steady her voice enough to speak.

“Were we… acquainted?”

“……”

A soft laugh escaped him.

Daphne lowered her head, but he suddenly gripped her jaw and forced her face upward.

“Trying to set up an escape plan?”

“……”

“If not… are you insane?”

He muttered as if he didn’t expect an answer.

His grip was firm and unyielding, yet every movement he made was disturbingly smooth, almost delicate.

“It’ll be troublesome if you’ve gone mad…”

“……”

Daphne’s eyes widened.

She saw clearly what he was pulling from the inside pocket of his uniform.

Under the faint light slipping through the curtain, metal gleamed coldly.

‘A gun.’

‘Is he planning to kill me? Here? Now?’

Terror washed over her. Her bound arm prevented her from moving, leaving her with nowhere to run.

“I was wrong! Please—please—”

Her voice broke as she spoke and her body trembled as she tried to move, despite him still holding her jaw.

He didn’t react to her pleas at all.

Calmly and almost leisurely, he adjusted his grip on the weapon.

Then he pressed it to her head.

Its hard, unyielding touch froze her in place.

“Miss Winfred.”

“……”

Her name rolled off his tongue. Even at the brink of terror, that same maddening sense of familiarity crawled up inside her once again.

‘What is this, this cursed feeling?’

“Do you want to live?”

“Y-yes—yes…!”

“But unfortunately, you’ve already heard the secret. It would be easier to kill you and find another stand-in.”

A secret?

He must have meant the command he had given her, to live as Allen Howard.

Daphne squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m not insane!”

She whispered desperately.

The cold pressure against her scalp did not move.

“How can you prove it?”

His voice was gentle, almost like that of a teacher calmly asking a question in class.

Demanding proof at a time like this, when her life was hanging by a thread, was absurd.

She had already said something reckless. How could she possibly prove, right then and there, that she wasn’t crazy?

But she had to.

She had to prove it.

Because that was the only way she would survive.

Click — the sound of the gun being cocked sliced through the air.

Her heartbeat pounded so violently that it felt as if her chest might burst.

If he so much as twitched, her skull would be blown apart.

The sharp, blinding rush of terror coursing through her made her dizzy, as though she were about to black out.

But she couldn’t faint.

She couldn’t collapse.

She had to live.

She had to think of something — anything — to help her survive.

‘Think, Daphne!’

The muzzle pressed closer to her head.

Daphne looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

His cold blue gaze stared down at her, calm and composed — the opposite of her own frantic desperation.

Then, something pierced her mind.

A cracked voice escaped her trembling lips.

“…You… you can’t kill me anyway.”

Silence fell.

Daphne had no idea what she had just said.

It felt as if a superhuman instinct, ignited by the proximity of death, had caused her to speak.

But she knew she hadn’t lied.

“…Hah. What was that?”

Much to her astonishment, the man finally lowered the loaded gun from her head.

As the cold pressure eased, her heart, which had been beating wildly against her ribs, gradually returned to normal.

Daphne shut her eyes tightly and said nothing.

For reasons she couldn’t understand, the terror gripping her began to loosen its hold, thread by thread.

Just as she’d said, it truly felt as though this man could not kill her.

That same inexplicable certainty had flickered inside her every time she looked at him.

She drew in a shaky breath, then parted her lips again, her voice steadier than before.

“I’m not insane…”

“……”

He didn’t respond.

After standing in silence for a moment, he sighed in irritation and took the magazine out of the gun.

With practiced efficiency, he cleared the chambered round and slid the weapon back into his uniform.

But he wasn’t finished.

He pulled out a sheathed dagger.

Daphne’s breath caught. A fresh wave of fear surged through her.

He drew the blade slowly and almost ritually, without hesitation.

Under the faint light seeping through the curtains, the sharpened edge glimmered with a cold, lethal sheen.

His lips, half-hidden beneath the brim of his cap, were pressed into a hard, unreadable line.

Then he began to approach her in long, steady, unhurried strides.

Before she could utter a sound, he swung the blade.

“…!”

Thud.

The rope binding her right hand fell uselessly to the floor.

“We’re leaving soon.”

He said only that, then pulled the curtain aside and walked out.

From the opening he left behind, Daphne stared blankly at his retreating figure.

‘Why… does he look angry?’

Soon after, the military nurse arrived. A black cloth bag was pulled over Daphne’s head, after which her wrists were handcuffed.

Enveloped in darkness, she had no choice but to rely on the hands guiding her as she was led out of the hospital.