The hospital seemed to have come to a halt as we all huddled around the small radio in the dining hall. It was the twelfth of October 1915—over a full year since the beginning of the Great War. It didn't happen often that every member of the staff was awake and in the same room, but today was, unfortunately, one I would not forget for a long time. Nurses and doctors share a certain amount of camaraderie with each other. We are all part of a larger family because we know how to do things no one else does: save lives. Yes, today was different. Not only was one of our own in trouble, fatal trouble, her struggles had been broadcasted live over the radio.

Edith Cavell, a talented nurse in Brussels, Belgium, was being put to death by the German Army, simply because she aided soldiers from both sides, no matter their nationality. I had a deep respect for this woman, who I had only come to know a few days ago when I heard about her unfair trial over the radio. We held our breath and kept our eyes downcast as the sounds of the firing squad drifted through the old speaker.

Piper's hand slipped into mine and I squeezed it tightly. Had the Germans no shame?

I put it out of my mind, being the first to exit the room. I just couldn't listen anymore. How were we supposed to keep going if even the kindest people in humanity were being slaughtered too?

Work at the central clearing station had slowed down a bit in the past couple of months, as the leading strain of the war moved further south. It was a relief and a discomfort, really. There was less to do, which was good since everyone needed a break, but we all felt like we could be doing more.

It was midmorning, and the night shift excused themselves to catch up on their sleep, having stayed up late to catch the broadcast. I went through the motions, preparing myself for a day of triage. I patted my hair, ensuring it was all tucked back into a French braid. My plaiting ability had improved along with my use of the French language. Before I had arrived in Boisleux au Mont, I was fluent, sure. But after putting my studies to practice, I could easily navigate the French lexicon with the native residents of the small hospital.

"Dr. Chase?" Someone called. I hurried my movements and pulled on my gloves and gear so I could take a look at my patient. He looked vaguely familiar for some reason, but I couldn't put my finger on it. After all, the United States wasn't a part of this war. Who could I possibly know if no one from home could be stationed here? I focused on his wounds instead.

There was a great deal of shrapnel in his arm, seemingly from the kickback from an artillery weapon. I was more worried, however, about the labored breathing that he presented. The soldier was barely conscious, probably due to the fact that he couldn't get enough oxygen to his brain. I moved my hands over his chest, but he seemed to resist, attempting to push away my hands.

"Don't—please, don't." He pleaded, his voice cracking and going higher than he anticipated.

"I'm sorry, soldier," I said with a slight grimace. "I believe you have a collapsed lung. That's why I need to inspect you. I promise I'll have you breathing easier in no time."

I glanced around and saw Piper pulling on her protective gear. She approached me after I caught her eye.

"Hold his hands down, please." My words seemed to irritate my patient more. "Please lay still!"

Moving around more made him even more short of breath. But he was desperate and committed to risking his health even more. I turned and looked down at him, pausing from my failing chest exam. "Am I going to have to chloroform you, soldier?"

Today was not a good day to push me. I had already listened to someone die over the radio. Why couldn't he just cooperate?

The soldier snorted in response to my question. "I'd like to see you try, Annabeth."

I froze.

How did he—? Only my last name was on my uniform and I was only referred to as "Doctor Chase" in the surgery room. My eyes flashed to Piper's before I bent down closer to the soldier's face. He had stopped moving, and I noticed his closely cropped brown hair. Up close, I noticed that he had slightly feminine features—wait. I did know him.

Her, actually.

"Clarisse?" I practically whispered. Her eyes were half open at this point.

"Hey, Princess." She said, before her eyes rolled back into her head, unconscious. Princess. That's what she had always called me, back when she used to mock me at camp for wanting to become a doctor.

I straightened stiffly, not quite knowing what to do at first.

"Annabeth?" Piper mumbled quietly. "What's going on?"

I snapped out of it. Of course there was a reason Clarisse didn't want me poking around her abdomen and taking off her shirt. Then she would be exposed for what she really was—a woman in soldier garb. I motioned Piper closer, then muttered to her, "This is Clarisse. She's from home. I knew she had disappeared a while ago in hopes of joining the cause, but I never thought she would get this far."

Piper crinkled her brow. "That's quite the coincidence."

I rolled my eyes in reply. "How am I supposed to fix her chest if I can't take her shirt off?"

Piper's eyes lit up. "Leave it to me. Start on the shrapnel. I'll be right back."

She left the room without another word. It was odd to be taking orders for once, but I did as I was told. Using tweezers and a small scalpel to remove the pieces of metal that flecked up and down my friend's arm. It was odd seeing her like this; injured and comatose. Normally the most Clarisse would get was a bloody nose. She didn't lose too many fights. But its hard to win a fight against heavy machinery.

Piper soon returned with a pair of scissors, as well as several other tools. I glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching. Thankfully, everyone present seemed to be pretty preoccupied with their own patients. Piper used the scissors to cut along the side seam of Clarisse's uniform. She also cut the homemade chest binder, leaving a small sliver of skin able to show.

Piper and I traded places, her cleaning up Clarisse's arm and me feeling along Clarisse's ribcage. Yes—it was just as I expected. A fractured rib was pressing into her lung. Somehow Piper and I managed to treat it. Piper held back the uniform just enough for me to feel around and make a small incision, then wedge a tube in between two of her ribs, allowing air to escape. A rib fracture normally heals on its own, but I needed to ensure that Clarisse's lung would re-inflate. I would have to monitor her breathing for the next few days, but she would be alright. At least, medically. I didn't know how she would fair when she would regain consciousness, when I would really have a chance to talk to her.

What was she thinking? How could she have been so reckless?

"You can move this one to recovery." I motioned for two of the attendants to grab a stretcher. "Tell the other nurses that I am interested in this one's mending process for some research and only Nurse Piper or I will tend to her."

Lord, it was frightening how easily I had come up with a lie.

"Nice." Piper remarked with an easy smile. I huffed, blowing the hair out of my face. The small flyaway pieces couldn't be helped. We collected our used equipment and put them in the bin for washing. It was strange to see a familiar face in this foreign country. It had left me feeling slightly off balance. Nothing could be done, though, so the only way to go was forward.

I threw myself back into my work at a vigorous pace. By the end of the day, when Will and I passed each other in the corridor, he had to stop me and ask if I was ill. I replied in the negative, that I was just tired, and that I would see him later.

After scrubbing my body clean and changing into my nightwear, I sat at the small desk in Piper and I's shared space and drafted a letter to Percy. Without thinking, my fingers brushed the locket that hung around my neck. Only a few weeks ago had a photographer come to the clearing station. He wanted pictures of the different perspectives of the war effort. With a little bribing, I got him to take my picture and develop it. The small photo was able to fit into the clasp door of a compass I had bought in town. I thought that it might be useful for a sea captain.

Dear Percy,

It's begun to get colder here in France. The leaves have changed color and I can hardly believe I am witnessing another autumn in Europe. How has a year of war passed so quickly? I feel as though I have just arrived. Time has not been kind to my hospital. With continued use, I think the building may begin to crumble. I just hope I am long gone before it does.

Where have you sailed to now? Are you still coasting around Scotland?

I have finally procured my own token for you. A photographer passed through Boisleux au Mont and I had to bribe him to take my photo. Can you believe that? Trust me, Piper and Will won't stop teasing me about it, but I can tell they are as pleased as I am at how it turned out. I never take your locket off, so I am never without you. Now you don't have to be without me either.

Is it possible to miss someone you've only met once so much? Because I miss you greatly. I hope you know that I live for your letters. You bring me joy in such a heart-heavy place. Perhaps we will meet again at the train station in London. After the war ends, of course. You have your marching orders and I have mine.

I have been skirting around this for the past few of our letters, I must admit. But I must get the words on paper before I lose all the boldness I had when I began this letter. I love you. I love that I can feel your personality from your letters and your comfort from the locket around my neck. I am yours.

Love always,

Annabeth

P.S. Perhaps you have one already, but every sailor needs a compass, yes? XX.*

I took a deep breath and folded the letter carefully into thirds, before slipping it into an envelope. I had memorized this address long ago, and soon my message and gift were sealed and ready to be sent. Though it had taken some courage, I had finally admitted that I loved him. And I did, truly. I blew out the candle I had been using for light, extinguishing myself into the darkness. Sleep didn't come, however. I was wide awake, thinking about Clarisse, and what I should do about her.

I couldn't very well expose her lie. It was a dangerous world. I would end up doing more harm than good. At the very least I would write to Chiron about it, to put his mind at ease. He didn't even know if she was alive at this point. I decided I would do that in the morning. I began counting in my head, taking deep breaths to ease my consciousness into sleep. And so, exhaustion took over.

*Fun fact, "X" was first used to symbolize a kiss in the mid-1700s. Thank you, readers! I know its been a while since I've updated.