Haven’s Perspective

I woke up irritated.

The tent felt smaller than usual, the air thick with the smell of damp canvas and human desperation. Outside, voices murmured, too noisy for my own comfort. Ever since we’d arrived at the Northern Safe Zone, people had begun to forget their place. They looked at me not with reverence, but with need.

Need was exhausting.

“Haven, Haven…please.”

The voice was weak, almost cracking. I pushed the tent flap aside and found a civilian kneeling in the ...