Operation: Threads of Connection

Protect

Damian's pov:

The sound of boots hitting the pavement echoed in the cold, gray morning. I kept my head down, trying to block out the noise, the harsh voices barking orders, and the constant pressure that had become my new reality. My body ached from the relentless training, but it was the weight of my father's words that truly crushed me.

"Focus, Damian," I muttered to myself, forcing my mind back to the task at hand. I couldn't afford any slip-ups here. One mistake, one sign of weakness, and my father's plan would succeed.

As I marched with the others, I couldn't stop thinking about the note I left behind. The one that father wrote, I left it so they could realize they shouldn't be messing around with people like him. But deep down, I knew they wouldn't listen. Anya, Bash, Ewen, Emile—they were stubborn, and they cared too much. A part of me hoped they'd figure it out, but the other part, the rational part, prayed they'd stay far away from this mess. I couldn't bear the thought of them getting hurt because of me.

The military base was a cold, unfeeling place, just like my father's heart. This was his idea of making me a "man," stripping away everything I cared about, everyone I cared about, and molding me into someone who could carry on his legacy without question. I hated it. But I had no choice. The threat in his letter was clear—if I didn't comply, he'd hurt the people I loved. And I knew he would. I'd seen what he was capable of.

"Damian, you need to get your head in the game!" Sergeant Reed's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me. He was my father's choice, personally selected to make sure I didn't get any ideas about escaping.

"Yes, sir," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. I couldn't afford to show any weakness here. Not now.

As the day dragged on, I focused on the grueling exercises, pushing my body to its limits, trying to silence the thoughts that wouldn't stop swirling in my head. I couldn't stop thinking about Anya. Her eyes, the way they lit up when she was excited or how they softened when she was worried. She was always worried about me, always looking out for me, even when I didn't want her to. I can't have my father doing anything to her, they already ruined her life once. I would do anything to protect her.

When the day finally ended, and I was allowed a moment of solitude in my bunk, I pulled out the small photograph I'd hidden away—a picture of Anya and I together, taken on a day that felt like a lifetime ago. We were smiling, carefree, not knowing what was coming. I traced my finger over her face, a pang of longing hitting me so hard it almost took my breath away.

I had to find a way out of this. I couldn't stay here. But I knew escaping wasn't an option. Not without putting everyone I cared about in danger. My father's reach was too long, his influence too strong. If I made a wrong move, he'd hurt them. He'd hurt her.

But I couldn't just give up either. There had to be something I could do. Some way to turn this around. As I lay back on the stiff mattress, the cold seeping into my bones, I made a vow to myself. I would survive this. I would find a way to protect them, even if it meant playing my father's game for a while longer.

And when the time was right, when I'd gathered enough strength and information, I'd strike back. I wouldn't let my father win. I wouldn't let him destroy my life—or hers. For now, all I could do was wait and plan. But I wouldn't lose hope. I couldn't. Because as long as I held on to that, I knew I still had a chance.

"Get up," a hoarse voice spoke, interrupting my thoughts. I sat up quickly, glancing around to see a new figure standing in the doorway of the bunk room. It was one of the other recruits, a broad-shouldered guy with a scruffy beard and tired eyes. I hadn't seen him before, and his presence was unexpected.