One night, the rebels were surrounded.
Bullets flew like locusts. The mountains trembled. Men fell with their faces torn open.
And Lume — Luan — did what no one else dared. She stood.
She ran through the fire, gun in one hand, torch in the other, screaming the names of the dead. Her coat caught flame. Her leg was torn by shrapnel. But she didn't stop until the enemy line broke.
Later, they said an angel had come down from the cliffs. Others swore she was a devil.
But when they found her the next morning, she was kneeling beside her commander, cradling his head in her lap like a mother would a child.
"We won," he whispered.
"Not yet," she replied.
Her secret was discovered by a wounded rebel who caught her undressing behind a boulder. He saw the bandages. The curves. The truth.
He dropped to his knees.
"You're a woman," he whispered, in awe.
"No," she said, "I'm every woman who died for silence."
He never told a soul.