She doesn't believe in miracles.

She can't afford to. In her world, the pain and the loss are buried deep enough that eventually they are forgotten. The mission is accomplished, the survivors congratulated, and the victims forgotten. Her world is Darwin at work, survival of the fittest on hyper drive.

She won't be there when he wakes up. There is no use for her to sit, helpless, in a plastic chair, watching machines monitor the fragile proof of life. She can't leave his side. Every breath, every heartbeat is another reprieve; another second before the grief comes crashing down. Torn, she wanders to the garden courtyard, close enough to keep connected, far enough to keep safe from the emotional onslaught.

He was three when she met him the first time. Her mother was his father's boss, and somehow the chain of command leaped from work to life when Leah needed a babysitter. Rachel, his mother, took her in for two weeks, and somehow became the unofficial nanny when Leah's mother left town, more and more often as her child grew until she was almost never in Israel.

Rachel cared for the two toddlers with a baby on the way, all alone in their small apartment as her husband went off to protect her from afar. Samuel, upset at the addition that seemed to replace his father, called Leah a 'stupid girl', and she punched him in the nose, cementing their friendship for good.

His father died two years later in the line of duty, and Rachel transformed from the gentle, compassionate woman Leah had known almost all her life into a fierce matriarch, ready to guard whatever family she still possessed; five-year-old Samuel, his two-year-old sister, Ariella, and Leah, who Rachel considered as almost a second daughter.

Ariella had puzzled Leah at first. She was a perfectly happy baby, but the sounds that intrigued other infants had no affect on Ariella, and as often as Leah called her from across the room, she never answered. Rachel explained, as simply as possible, that Ariella couldn't hear what Leah could, that she had been born deaf.

They learned sign language as Ariella grew, and eventually her oddity didn't seem out of place. Her deafness was as much a part of her as the color of her hair, or the way she cocked her head when she was confused.

If she had heard, however, she might have escaped the bomb that killed her. They were walking in the market, Samuel, Leah, and Ariella, and Ariella crossed the street to get a better look at a doll she wanted for her eighth birthday. Leah heard the warnings being shouted, the subtle sounds of the bomb, but Ariella never did.

Sometimes, in her sleep, Leah still hears those warnings, the sound of the explosion and the sirens, can smell the smoke and burned fruit from the market stands, and the horrible, unforgettable smell of singed flesh and hair.

Rachel had died two months later, in a car accident, and Leah's mother, Hannah, took her daughter back in and became Samuel's legal guardian.

They had been completely independent since they were ten. Leah's mother, Hannah, had no interest in raising a child or any idea how to do so, and after she set the two up with a room each in her apartment, she promptly returned to her Middle-Eastern post to finish her mission. She left them an allowance every week, and from time to time, one of her coworkers stopped by to make sure they were still breathing.

Somewhere during the course of their childhood, they had picked up the customs of their land, the war-like lifestyle, and when Hannah saw this, she honed their skills even further. They became weapons, miniature soldiers, but they had not been children since they were young. The pain of his family's deaths, and her mother's abandonment festered inside them, fueling them to succeed at the war games, to fight and kill with precision, and to never, never lose. Life isn't a privilege, it's a prize, and to win it, you must fight with body and soul day after day.

She did not expect him to live now. Superstition did not live with her, or good luck. She hadn't cried when his sister or mother had died. She hadn't cried when her mother was killed. She promised herself she wouldn't cry now, no matter what happened, because weakness killed.

Still, when a nurse found her in the garden two hours later, staring unseeingly at the crimson spotted pages of her book and told her the news, Leah cried.