(Ja’kari’s Point of View)

Darkness.

That’s all I saw when my eyes finally closed — not the kind that brings peace, but the kind that hums. The kind that remembers.

The injection must’ve dragged me under quick, but sleep didn’t bring rest.

It brought her.

A face — half in light, half in flame.

Her smile soft and familiar. Her eyes full of everything I lost.

“Ja’kari,” she whispered.

And I jolted awake.

My chest was slick with sweat, my pulse running wild.

The room was dark — just the hum of the forest outside, moonlight creeping through the window.

Kylee was next to me on the couch, half-asleep but alert enough to sense it.

“Nightmare again?” she murmured.

I nodded slowly, rubbing my face. “Yeah. Star.”

She sighed — not the kind that meant annoyance, but the kind that came from knowing pain too long. “Come on,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get some air.”

⸻

The porch was silent except for the rain easing off the leaves.

The air smelled of pine and cold night.

The moon hung heavy — full and silver, spilling light across the wet ground.

Kylee sat on the railing, pulling her blanket tighter. I sat beside her, arms on my knees, eyes locked on the sky.

“You saw her again?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “She looked… happy. Like before.”

Kylee turned to me. “Before what?”

I smiled faintly. “Before the world got cruel.”

We sat there for a while, listening to the night breathe. Crickets, wind, the faint hoot of an owl in the distance.

“Remember when you used to visit once a year?” she asked.

That made me laugh — soft, broken, but real.

“Yeah,” I said. “Those were the only weeks that ever felt like freedom.”

Kylee nudged my arm. “You’d always show up with that same duffel bag and a new scar.”

“Hazard of the job,” I muttered.

She smiled. “And I’d always make you promise not to get another one.”

“And I’d always break it.”

We both chuckled quietly, like two ghosts laughing at the living.

The silence that followed was different — gentler, but heavy with the kind of memories that never fade.

Then Kylee asked, “What was she like?”

That question hit like a blade through armor.

I stared out at the trees, letting the words find their way through the lump in my throat.

“Star was… everything. Smart. Brave. She could disarm a man twice her size before he even drew breath. But she wasn’t just a fighter.”

Kylee tilted her head. “Then what was she?”

I smiled — a rare one. “Light. She was my light.”

The fire flickered behind my eyes — the memories rushing in.

“She was the only one who didn’t see a weapon when she looked at me. Just… a boy trying to survive. She loved me for me.”

⸻

Flashback — Tokyo, 2015.

Wind whipped across the rooftop.

We were fifteen stories up, crouched behind a billboard, both of us bruised, dirt-streaked, and laughing like idiots after surviving another impossible mission.

“You know,” she said, kicking her boots against the ledge, “we’re probably gonna die one day doing this.”

“Probably,” I replied, leaning beside her. “But not tonight.”

She turned to me, that smirk tugging at her lips. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Only when I’m with you.”

She rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed — but her hand brushed mine.

That was enough.

For once, the world felt small. Quiet. Just us.

“I love you, Star,” I said — the words falling out before I could stop them.

She froze. Then smiled, leaning her forehead against mine and kisses me. “I know, I love you more” she whispered. “Now shut up before someone hears us.”

Our laughter echoed into the night, blending with the city lights below.

That was the last time peace felt real.

⸻

I blinked. The porch came back into focus — the forest, the stars, my sister watching me with that same worried smile.

“What made her special?” she asked softly.

I exhaled through my nose, eyes on the moon.

“She made me a fighter,” I said. “And she loved me when I didn’t deserve it.”

Kylee nodded slowly, eyes glistening. “She’d be proud, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But she’d still kick my ass for getting soft.”

She laughed — really laughed — for the first time in a while.

And for a few seconds, the night didn’t feel so heavy.

Hours later the sun filtered through the mansion’s wide windows, scattering soft gold across the long oak table.

For once, the world felt calm.

The kind of calm that doesn’t last.

Plates clattered somewhere to his right. Kelo hummed off-key while flipping pancakes on a skillet — too loud, too cheerful for how early it was. Lina was sketching half-asleep on a napkin. Kylee sat across from him, sipping her coffee like it was oxygen. Jayla and Kelo were arguing about something that sounded like science, but Ja’kari barely heard them.

He sat at the end of the table, half-listening, half-watching the sunlight crawl across the grain of the wood.

The silence in his head hadn’t gone away since the blackout.

He could still feel the echo of it — the way his chest had tightened, the way the room had disappeared. His sister’s voice had pulled him back, grounding him in the dark. But even now, the memory lingered like smoke.

Outside, the forest had gone still again. No thunder. No wind. Just quiet.

And somehow, that quiet unnerved him more than the storm.

⸻

“Yo, you good, soldier boy?”

Kelo’s voice broke through the haze. Ja’kari blinked, realizing he’d been staring at the syrup bottle for who-knows-how-long.

He leaned back slightly. “Just thinking.”

“’Bout what? Your next secret mission?”

Before he could answer, Kylee kicked Kelo’s shin under the table. “Don’t start.”

“Ow! I was just—”

Ja’kari smirked — just a small one, but enough. “You talk too much for someone who burns toast.”

The table erupted. Kelo pointed at him like he’d been betrayed. “Oh, that’s cold.”

“Truth hurts,” Lina murmured without looking up from her sketch.

Jayla added, “At least he’s feeding us,” which earned her a mock glare from Kelo.

“Et tu, Jayla?” he shot back.

“Et feed us,” she replied with a smirk.

The sound of laughter filled the old hall — light, careless, human. The kind of sound this place hadn’t heard in years. For a moment, Ja’kari let it wash over him.

He didn’t smile often, but something about this — about them — chipped away at the walls he’d built.

And then he caught himself staring at Asia.

She sat across from him, hair slightly tousled from sleep, chin resting in her palm. She looked tired — not weak, just soft around the edges. Real.

Their eyes met. Just for a second.

Long enough.

Her pulse jumped; he saw it in the small shift of her throat. He let the corner of his mouth curve — the faintest grin — and looked away just long enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined it.

“Enjoying breakfast?” he asked, tone low, easy.

She blinked, startled. “Uh… yeah. You?”

He shrugged. “Getting there. Missing one thing, though.”

“What’s that?” she asked, a little too curious.

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just enough. “Conversation with you.”

Kylee choked on her coffee. Kelo dropped the spatula mid-flip.

Asia’s face went bright red. “You’re— You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Ja’kari said, smiling now — real, this time. “But I’m not wrong.”

Laughter exploded around the table again. Even Kylee was shaking her head, trying not to grin.

But beneath the noise, something electric lingered.

He felt it between himself and Asia — quiet, magnetic, dangerous.

And he couldn’t tell if it excited him or terrified him more.

⸻

When breakfast ended, the group drifted apart.

Lina and Kelo went to the porch, arguing over music again. Kylee and Asia headed upstairs, talking about reorganizing the armory. Jayla stayed behind, rinsing dishes with that quiet, analytical expression she always wore when she was thinking too much.

Ja’kari stood, gathering his empty cup, his body still heavy with fatigue. “I’ll be outside,” he murmured.

Kylee glanced up. “You sure you should be—”

“I’m fine,” he said — a little sharper than he meant to. She didn’t push it.

He walked down the hall, footsteps echoing off the stone floor, until he reached the garage — the only place in the mansion that still felt like his.

Inside, the smell of oil and steel greeted him like old ghosts.

He sat on the tailgate of the truck and laid out his weapons on a cloth — rifles, sidearms, blades — each one stripped down to its most fragile parts. The act of cleaning them was muscle memory, but it wasn’t about the weapons. It was control.

When everything inside him felt unpredictable, this was order.

He exhaled slowly, wiped a dark smudge from the barrel, and watched the metal catch the dim light.

That was when he felt it — the sensation of being watched.

A shift in the air. A hesitation in the silence.

Without looking, he spoke.

“Curiosity’s a dangerous habit.”

There was a small gasp. A pause. Then Jayla’s voice — nervous, soft. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” he said, letting the corner of his lip twitch upward, “you did.”

He didn’t turn to face her. He could see her reflection faintly in the truck’s tinted window — standing a few feet behind him, eyes flicking between the gun parts and the katana laid across the seat.

“You’re not cleaning those for fun,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “I’m not.”

Her gaze fell on the katana — black steel with faint crimson script carved along the edge. The mark of a forgotten order.

“That’s not standard military issue,” she murmured.

He finally looked at her then — just long enough for her to see what lived behind his eyes.

“No. It’s personal.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer. “Who are you, really?”

He stared at the weapon in his hands for a moment before answering.

“I’m what happens when the world breaks a kid and decides not to fix him.”

The words came out quieter than he expected — almost to himself.

Jayla didn’t respond at first. He could feel her staring, but he didn’t look up. He picked up the next piece, began reassembling the rifle, voice steady but low.

“I’ve done things that don’t fit in a file. Things I stopped counting. They call it mercenary work. I call it survival.”

She whispered, “That can’t be all you are.”

He smiled faintly — not because it was funny, but because it was naïve.

“It’s enough for the people hunting me.”

Her breath hitched. “Hunting you?”

He reached over, grabbed a thin folder from the passenger seat, and tossed it toward her. “Take a look.”

She hesitated, then unfolded it.

Thirty-two pages.

Thirty-two states.

Each stamped with the same word in red ink: WANTED.

At the top — Ja’kari Nelson.

She froze. “Oh my God.”

“Relax,” he said quietly, turning a screw with calm precision. “They won’t find this place.”

He felt her staring at him, saw the shift in her reflection — realization, fear, and something else. Pity.

He didn’t need pity.

“What did they make you do?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just slid the rifle back together, each click echoing in the cold air.

Then, softly, “You should go inside, Jayla.”

“I can help—”

“No.” His tone sharpened, not in anger, but finality. “You can’t.”

A long silence. Then slow footsteps retreating down the hall.

⸻

When she was gone, Ja’kari sat back, staring at the weapon in his hands — the reflection of his own eyes in the dark steel.

He could still feel the mark faintly burning beneath his skin, even though it was dormant now.

He thought of Star — the fire, the screams, the way she looked at him one last time before everything went white.

He shut his eyes. Breathed in through his nose. Out through his teeth.

He’d promised Kylee he was fine.

He wasn’t.

But they didn’t need to know that.

⸻

That night, long after the mansion went still, Ja’kari sat in the same spot — surrounded by cleaned weapons, moonlight pouring through the high windows.

Outside, the forest whispered in its sleep.

Inside, silence lingered.

He didn’t need to look up to know Jayla had seen more than she should have.

And as he loaded the last magazine, a grim thought crossed his mind:

Secrets were like triggers —

Once pulled, they couldn’t be undone.

Jayla’s POV

I don’t know why I followed him.

Maybe because silence had weight, and he carried it like a weapon.

The hallway to the garage was cold — bare walls, dim light. I heard the faint click of metal before I saw him.

He was sitting on the tailgate of a matte-black truck, shirt sleeves rolled up, disassembling a rifle with surgical precision.

No wasted movement. No hesitation.

Each piece placed down like part of a ritual.

There was something almost hypnotic about it — the quiet rhythm of metal against metal, the faint hum of his breath.

Then I saw the scars.

Lines of pale silver carved across his forearms, shoulders, even the edge of his neck — some thin like threads, others deep like history.

My throat went dry.

He noticed me.

Didn’t turn, didn’t startle — just said softly,

“Curiosity’s a dangerous habit.”

I froze. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, a faint grin touching his mouth. “You did.”

I stepped closer, heart pounding. “You’re not cleaning that for fun.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached beside him, pulled out a slim case, and opened it.

Inside — two handguns, throwing knives, and a sleek black katana with faint crimson symbols carved along the blade.

The air thickened.

“That’s not regulation military,” I whispered.

He finally looked at me. His eyes — dark, steady, sharp enough to cut through silence.

“No. It’s personal.”

“Who are you, really?” I asked.

He studied me, as if deciding how much truth I could survive. Then he set the rifle aside and leaned back against the truck.

“I’m what the world makes when it breaks a kid too early,” he said quietly. “When they decide you’re better as a weapon than a person.”

I didn’t breathe.

He kept talking — voice low, calm, terrifyingly honest.

“I’ve done things that don’t make it into files. Things I stopped keeping count of. Some people call it mercenary work. Some call it survival.”

I shook my head slowly. “That can’t be all you are.”

He smiled — not kindly. “It’s enough for the people hunting me.”

“Hunting you?”

He nodded once, picking up a folded document from the seat beside him and tossing it over. I caught it, hands trembling.

Thirty-two names.

Thirty-two states.

All marked WANTED.

And at the top — Ja’kari Vance.

My stomach dropped. “Oh my God.”

He looked away, voice quiet. “Relax. They’ll never find this place.”

I stared at him — this man who’d saved us, joked with us, flirted over breakfast — and realized he wasn’t just dangerous.

He was haunted.

Not by guilt.

By memory.

The kind of man who didn’t sleep because every dream was a battlefield.

“What… what did they make you do?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just reached up and reassembled the rifle, piece by piece, like the question didn’t exist.

Then, almost gently, he said, “You should go inside, Jayla.”

“I can help—”

“You can’t.”

His tone wasn’t cruel — it was final.

A line drawn for my safety, not my exclusion.

So I left. Slowly.

But as I reached the door, I looked back once more.

He was sitting there in the dim garage light, shadows painting his face, cleaning his weapon with that same eerie calm.

And for a heartbeat, I thought I saw something in his eyes — regret.

⸻

Back inside, the house was quiet again. The others had drifted into their rooms. Only the hum of the fireplace filled the hall.

I leaned against the wall, heart still pounding, trying to process what I’d seen.

Wanted in thirty-two states.

Mercenary.

Haunted.

And yet… he’d made breakfast with us hours ago.

He’d smiled. He’d laughed.

He’d flirted.

He’d been human.

⸻

Later, I sat in the library, pretending to scroll my tablet, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything — the scars, the precision, the weight in his voice when he said they made me.

Lina walked in quietly, a sketchpad in hand. “You good?”

I looked up, startled. “Huh? Yeah. Fine.”

She tilted her head, reading my face like an open page. “You don’t look fine.”

I hesitated.

My mouth opened, then closed again.

How do you tell someone their teammate — their protector — is a ghost from a different life?

Finally, I whispered, “You ever find out something you weren’t supposed to?”

She frowned. “Yeah… why?”

“Just wondering,” I said, forcing a small smile.

Lina stared at me for a moment longer, but she didn’t press. She just nodded slowly and sat beside me.

For a while, we said nothing. Just the sound of rain starting again, soft and distant.

And I knew — I’d keep his secret.

For now.

Because whatever Ja’kari was…

He wasn’t our enemy.

Not yet.

⸻

That night, long after everyone went to bed, Jayla stood by her window, staring out into the forest. Somewhere beyond the trees, she knew Ja’kari was still awake — watching the woods, cleaning his blades, guarding ghosts no one else could see.

And in the stillness between lightning and silence, she made a quiet promise to herself:

To find out what really happened to him.

Before his past found them first