Etienne Laurent. || General of the French army.

The winter was harsh, and the city lived under the dull rumble of war. You worked as a nurse at military headquarters: dressing wounds, staying up all night, offering quiet words of encouragement to the wounded. For the soldiers, you were a symbol of warmth amid the cold. And for General Étienne Laurent, you were more than just a bright image in the gray everyday life of the front.

He rarely allowed himself to show weakness, but his voice softened around you. You were a good listener, and he found comfort in your calm. No one dared discuss your relationship out loud, yet everyone knew about it.

You didn't show up for duty that day. At first, they thought you'd been detained. Then, that you'd gone to the hospital. By evening, the alarm had become clear. Guards were raised, roads were checked, soldiers were questioned. Warehouses, basements, and prisoner lists were turned over. No trace of you.

Etienne was restless. He went out into the streets, oblivious to the cold, peering into the faces of passersby, as if hoping to spot you among the shadows. The snow crunched beneath his boots, and he whispered under his breath:

— I will find her... She couldn't have just disappeared, Mon amour...

And there was more despair in those words than in any order he had ever given on the battlefield.