Please Forget Me - Chapter 227

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The moment I tried to speak, Killian intervened with an unexpected demand.

“Then we will reveal our names.”

“What kind of great names do you have?”

One soldier scoffed, smiling coldly.

“Sounds like a trick.”

He suspected we were trying to sneak into Falkland territory, that even if we met the commander, we might attack him.

‘Now they really think we’re spies.’

The soldier slowly raised the rifle, aiming as if to shoot if necessary.

“Wait!”

I didn’t care why he was lying or hiding the truth. Our lives came first. I was about to reveal the truth and our names when…

“Ha…”

Click.

With a resigned sigh, Killian dropped his bag at our feet as if surrendering.

“Then leave us here and deliver the letter in this bag to the commander.”

…Letter?

Following his instructions, one soldier pulled a book from the bag. It was a Highland poetry book Killian had owned for years, never opened—until after we rekindled our romance, he had read from it to me and copied it out.

‘There was a letter hidden in this?’

I had read this book countless times but never noticed any letter, so I was utterly bewildered.

“Rip the paper off the inside cover.”

The soldier obeyed, revealing a neatly folded sheet of paper. Its size and position matched the cover perfectly, leaving no visible clue that anything was hidden.

“What… is this?”

The soldier’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing, and he glanced at us over the paper as if demanding an explanation.

‘Why is he acting like that?’

I didn’t know what was written, so I returned the same bewildered look.

“What does it say?”

Was he illiterate? I reached for the paper.

“Let me read it for you.”

“No, you can’t read it either.”

Just as the soldier tried to hand it over, Killian intervened.

“This is written in one of our military codes.”

…A code? That explained why ordinary soldiers didn’t understand the contents. They had assumed we were civilians or Highland spies. Hearing that we possessed a coded letter, their eyes widened and they examined us closely again.

“Why do you have this?”

“We’ll tell the commander.”

“First, at least tell us what it says so we can report to headquarters…”

“Below the rank of field officer, it’s classified. Your commander knows the decoding method and can read it. If not, ask headquarters by phone.”

A short while later, one soldier went down the mountain to deliver the coded letter. A couple of hours later, the same soldier came running back, shouting:

“The lieutenant ordered that both of you be brought here immediately!”

After reporting to his superior, both soldiers treated us with great courtesy. We had clearly shaken off the suspicion of being spies.

“Follow us.”

Relieved at having survived, we followed them to the Falkland outpost on the mountain, then—surprisingly—they drove us down in a sedan, not a cart or truck, to where the commander waited.

Such gracious treatment. Killian’s name and identity must have been recognized by the commander. As the soldier said, he truly was a prominent figure.

‘Then why didn’t he just give the letter from the start instead of pretending we were captured civilians?’

I couldn’t fathom what Killian was thinking. Even now, I still don’t know.

What on earth was he thinking, that at this moment—having successfully returned alive—he seemed ready to die?