JAKARI POV

The bag swung back at me hard enough to rattle the chains.

I met it with my shoulder this time—not full force, just enough to test it. A dull ache flared, then faded. No sharp pain. No grinding. That alone made me exhale.

Healthy. Or close enough.

I followed with a jab–cross–hook, the leather thudding in a steady rhythm that drowned out everything else. Sweat ran down my spine, my breath controlled, measured. Each strike felt cleaner than the last. Stronger. Whatever had been wrong with my shoulder weeks ago was finally losing ground.

Across the room, Jayla sat at the long table, legs tucked under her, glasses low on her nose as she flipped through classified files. She paused every so often to jot notes in the margins, lips moving silently as she cross-referenced names and dates. Focused. Sharp. The kind of quiet that missed nothing.

Metal scraped behind me.

Lina and Kelo were sparring on the mats, bare hands, no restraints. Lina moved like a blade—precise, efficient—while Kelo relied on power and reach. Every exchange ended with a correction. A pivot. A sweep. The sound of bodies hitting the mat echoed through the warehouse, followed by Lina’s calm voice explaining exactly why he’d lost balance.

Near the weapons racks, Asia checked inventory with military precision. Ammo counted twice. Magazines cleaned and aligned. Firearms stripped and reassembled like it was second nature. She didn’t look up once, but I knew she was listening to everything—the punches, the impacts, the cadence of the room.

It was routine.

That almost scared me more than chaos.

I drove another punch into the bag, harder this time. The chains screamed in protest as it swung wide. My shoulder held.

Good.

Because something in my chest had been tightening all morning, and I didn’t know why yet.

Everyone was doing what they were supposed to do. Training. Studying. Preparing.

Like we weren’t standing on the edge of something that was about to break.

I wiped sweat from my brow and glanced around the room again, memorizing it without meaning to.

Just in case.

I let the bag slow on its own before stepping away.

The armory smelled like oil and metal—familiar, grounding. Asia stood at one of the benches, sleeves rolled up, inspecting a rifle with practiced ease. She glanced up when she heard me.

“Shoulder holding?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Feels… solid.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “Told you not to rush it.”

I leaned against the rack, watching the way she worked. Efficient. Confident. Comfortable in the quiet. We traded small comments—half-jokes, half-challenges—the kind that sat just under the surface of something more. It felt easy. Too easy.

She handed me a magazine. Our fingers brushed. She didn’t pull away.

“You’re gonna need this soon,” she said. “The way things are going.”

Before I could answer—

“Jakari.”

Jayla’s voice carried from the table behind us. Not sharp. Just focused.

“I found something,” she said. “About Mara. It could help us corner her.”

I hesitated, just long enough to feel Asia watching me.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek—quick, light, familiar. “I’ll be right back.”

Her expression softened for half a second before she nodded. “Go.”

I crossed the room toward Jayla, the shift in energy subtle but undeniable.

Behind me, I felt it before I saw it—Lina’s attention snapping into place. She stood still on the mats, eyes tracking Asia as she closed the rifle case and stepped away from the bench.

Lina tapped Kelo’s arm once.

He didn’t ask why.

Kelo peeled off without a word, heading after Asia as she exited toward the storage wing.

At the table, Jayla slid a file toward me. “Mara’s been moving funds through shell contractors tied to private shipping docks. If we intercept one—”

“—we can trace her supply routes,” I finished.

Jayla nodded. “Exactly. If we hit the right one, we don’t just find her. We box her in.”

Lina joined us, wiping her hands on a towel. “What kind of security are we talking?”

“Rotational mercs,” Jayla said. “Not loyal. Paid well, but predictable.”

I glanced up. “Where are the other two?”

Lina didn’t hesitate. “Roof. Asia’s using Kelo to organize the crates.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

I nodded once, forcing my focus back to the table. “Alright. Let’s plan this right.”

But somewhere above us—on concrete warmed by the setting sun—things were already shifting.

And I didn’t know it yet, but the balance we’d been standing on was starting to crack.

Jayla spread the files across the table, pinning the corners with empty mags so they wouldn’t curl.

“Mara’s been rotating safe locations every forty-eight hours,” she said. “But the pattern isn’t random. She favors industrial zones—places that blend in. Warehouses. Old office blocks. Dock-adjacent structures.”

Lina leaned in, eyes sharp. “Escape routes?”

“Multiple,” Jayla replied. “Too many. That’s the problem. She’s not running—she’s daring someone to try.”

I folded my arms, jaw tight. “She wants a fight.”

Jayla met my eyes. “She wants to see who’s desperate enough.”

Lina tapped the map once. “Then we don’t play her game. We isolate.”

Jayla slid another page forward—satellite shots, time stamps, convoy routes. “There’s one location she keeps returning to. Not for long. Just enough to reset. Midtown office building. Seven floors. Power grid is outdated. Security relies more on intimidation than structure.”

I studied the images. Something behind my eyes throbbed—low, restless.

“How many guards?” I asked.

“Twenty to thirty on rotation,” Jayla said. “But only six on-site at a time. The rest respond when alarms trip.”

Lina exhaled slowly. “So we don’t trip alarms.”

Jayla nodded. “We cut power first. Elevators dead. Cameras blind. We move floor by floor, quiet.”

I traced the building outline with my finger. “Mara won’t be on the top floor.”

Jayla blinked. “Why are you sure?”

“Because she doesn’t need the view,” I said. “She needs control. She’ll be somewhere in the middle—close enough to escape, far enough to hear everything.”

Lina watched me carefully. “You’ve thought about this.”

I hadn’t realized how much.

Jayla swallowed. “If we do this… we need to be clean. Capture her. Not kill.”

The word capture felt wrong in my mouth.

I nodded anyway. “I’ll go in first.”

“No,” Lina said immediately. “We go together. You’re not charging in alone.”

Jayla added, softer, “We do this smart, Jakari. Not emotional.”

The room went quiet.

I looked at the map again. At Mara’s name printed in black ink. My pulse picked up—not rage. Not yet.

Something closer to inevitability.

“Then we move in forty-eight hours,” I said. “Before she shifts again.”

Lina straightened. “I’ll prep close-quarters contingencies.”

Jayla gathered the files. “I’ll finalize entry and extraction.”

They moved with purpose—efficient, focused.

I stayed still for a moment longer, staring at the building outline.

Somewhere deep in my chest, something answered back.

And I didn’t tell them that I could already feel it waking.

They broke formation naturally, drifting back into their routines like the plan hadn’t just sharpened the air between them.

Jayla gathered the files and headed toward her workstation. Lina peeled off toward the training mats, already calling for Kelo. The room slowly refilled with familiar sounds—metal clinking, boots against concrete, the low hum of generators.

I watched them for a second.

Then—“Jayla.”

She stopped, turning. “Yeah?”

“Wait.” I hesitated, then nodded toward the armory hallway. “Can I talk to you?”

Her brows knit slightly, but she followed without question. We stepped into the quieter corridor, the noise fading behind us. My hand slipped into my pocket before I could overthink it.

I pulled out the necklace.

It was simple—too simple for someone like Asia. A thin chain. A small pendant, clean lines, understated. Something she could wear without it screaming weapon vault or war zone.

Jayla’s eyes softened immediately.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Jakari…”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’ve been carrying it around for days. Every time I think about giving it to her, my brain just—locks up.”

She took it from my hand carefully, studying it. “You picked this for her.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “And that’s the problem.”

Jayla looked up. “You’re scared.”

I scoffed once. “I fight monsters. I break bones. I don’t get scared.”

She didn’t smile. “You’re scared of meaning something.”

That landed harder than I expected.

“I don’t want to mess it up,” I said quietly. “Things have been… good. And every time I try to do something real, something goes wrong.”

Jayla handed the necklace back to me. “Jakari, you can’t protect people by never choosing them.”

I stared at the pendant resting in my palm.

“What if she thinks it’s stupid?” I asked.

Jayla crossed her arms. “Then she’s wrong.”

A beat.

“And what if I lose her?” I added.

Jayla’s voice softened. “Then at least she’ll know you chose her while you had the chance.”

I exhaled slowly.

“She’s in the armory,” Jayla said. “Doing inventory.”

I nodded, nerves buzzing in my chest. “I know.”

Jayla stepped closer and tapped my shoulder. “Go. Before you talk yourself out of it.”

I hesitated one last second.

Then I turned and walked away, the weight in my pocket heavier than any weapon I carried.

Behind me, Jayla watched—hope flickering in her eyes, unaware that this moment would fracture more than just my courage.

Jakari disappeared down the armory hall, the echo of his boots fading.

Lina lingered.

She watched Jayla a second longer than necessary, then stepped closer. “Hey,” she said quietly. “You seen Kelo?”

Jayla was closing a file on her tablet. “Last I saw, he was with you.”

Lina shook her head. “No. He peeled off after Asia. I went looking—he’s not on the floor, not in storage, not on the roof.”

That made Jayla stop.

She looked up slowly. “Not on the roof?”

Lina’s jaw tightened. “No.”

Jayla didn’t waste another second. “Come on.”

They moved fast, slipping into the surveillance room. The lights were low, monitors stacked floor to ceiling. Jayla woke the system, fingers flying—corridors, loading bays, training rooms.

Then—

Armory.

The feed lagged, then cleared.

Asia stood near the weapons racks, her back half-turned. Kelo was close. Too close. His hand brushed her wrist.

Lina froze.

Jayla’s breath caught.

On-screen, Asia laughed—soft, familiar. Kelo leaned in.

They kissed.

Not hurried. Not accidental. Easy. Intimate.

Jayla’s eyes flicked to the corner of the feed—

Jakari stood in the armory doorway.

The door was barely open, just enough for him to see inside. He didn’t step in. Didn’t make a sound.

He saw everything.

The way Kelo’s hand rested at Asia’s waist.

The way Asia leaned into him.

The way neither of them pulled away.

Jakari didn’t react the way either woman expected.

No explosion.

No shout.

Just stillness.

Something hollowed out behind his eyes.

On the monitor, Jayla watched him take a slow step back.

Then another.

He turned and walked away.

“Jakari—” Jayla was already moving, shoving back from the console. “Lina—go!”

They were out of the room in seconds.

Too late.

Jakari was already in the armory corridor, yanking open lockers, pulling on his gear—vest, wraps, boots. No weapons. None. Just movement. Purpose.

“Jakari!” Jayla shouted, skidding to a stop. “Stop—talk to me!”

He didn’t look at her.

Behind them, the armory door opened fully.

Asia and Kelo stepped out together, confused.

“What’s going on?” Kelo asked.

Lina stepped in front of them instantly, blocking their path. “Stay. Here.”

Asia frowned. “What—no, Jakari—”

She tried to move past Lina.

Lina caught her arm. “Don’t.”

Asia yanked free and ran.

Jakari was already at the exit.

“Jakari!” Asia called, panic cracking her voice.

She reached him—grabbed his arm.

He shrugged her off like she weighed nothing.

Didn’t even look at her.

The door burst open and he was gone.

“Jakari—!” Jayla ran after him, shouting his name as he hit the open air.

Too late.

He sprinted.

Not ran—sprinted.

Across the yard, up the wall, boots hitting concrete once before he vaulted, clearing the gap to the next building with impossible speed.

One jump.

Then another.

Gone.

They all stood frozen, watching his silhouette disappear across the rooftops.

Kelo turned slowly. “What the hell just happened?”

Jayla didn’t answer.

She looked at Asia instead.

Disappointment sat heavy in her eyes—quiet, unmistakable.

Lina said nothing at all.

She just watched the empty skyline where Jakari had vanished, already knowing—

this wasn’t anger.

This was the beginning of something far worse. Jakari walked back into Mara’s world like a judgment that couldn’t be appealed.

One eye burned—a dark, vivid pink, glowing beneath the skin as if something ancient watched through it. The other was black as midnight, split by a thin white line, reptilian and merciless. His steps were slow. Measured. Each footfall deliberate, echoing too loudly against the concrete as though the building itself recognized him.

The night seemed to recoil.

Two guards stood at the front gate, laughter still on their lips, rifles slung casually. One of them noticed Jakari first—noticed the way he didn’t hesitate, didn’t look around, didn’t acknowledge the warning signs or cameras.

“Hey—!” the guard barked. “Stop right—”

Jakari didn’t stop.

He crossed the distance between them faster than thought could catch up. Hands moved—precise, economical. There was a wet sound, a brief choking gasp, and then silence. Both men dropped where they stood, bodies folding unnaturally at his feet as if gravity had simply claimed them. No alarm. No warning.

Jakari stepped over them and pushed through the front doors.

The lobby lights flickered, fluorescent bulbs buzzing overhead. For a moment, everything felt suspended—air thick, time stalled. Marble floors gleamed beneath his boots, pristine and untouched.

Then heels clicked sharply against tile.

Mara emerged from the corridor, already mid-sentence, irritation etched into her expression.

“Who the hell—”

She stopped.

Her eyes locked onto his.

The color drained from her face so fast it looked painful.

Fear—real fear—cut through her composure like a blade. Not panic. Not anger. The kind of fear that comes when someone realizes the rules no longer apply.

She turned and ran.

Her palm slammed down on a red panel as she fled, fingers trembling. Alarms erupted instantly, shrill and violent, flooding the building with sound.

Jakari kept walking.

Soldiers poured in from every direction, weapons raised, boots pounding against marble. Muzzle flashes lit the lobby in rapid bursts as bullets screamed toward him.

They didn’t touch him.

He moved through the chaos like smoke—slipping between lines of fire, disarming men before their fingers fully tightened on triggers. Guns clattered uselessly to the floor. Necks shattered. Bodies slammed into walls hard enough to crack stone. Orders were shouted over the alarms. Screams followed—cut short, broken, unfinished.

One soldier managed to land a punch—desperate, wild.

Jakari turned his head slowly, almost curiously.

Then kicked.

The impact was catastrophic. The man flew backward, crashing through reinforced steel as if it were drywall. His body hit once—and didn’t move again.

Jakari didn’t spare him a glance.

He climbed.

Floor by floor, resistance collapsed. Each level emptied as if something unseen preceded him, stripping the building of courage before he arrived. Men hesitated. That hesitation cost them everything.

By the time he reached the executive floor, the silence was deafening.

Mara’s office door stood open.

The a guard walked out with heavy Armour. He took out a long blade that didn’t make Jakari even feel like he was in danger. The man rushed forward Jakari stood his ground and waited. The soldier slashed down and Jakari took pivot making the soldier miss. He then grabbed the soldiers arm and kicked as he pulled ripping it off the man cried going to the ground back on the wall. 

Jakari walked to the man. He then took off the soldiers helmet watch the soldier plead for mercy. Jakari just stared then with the man’s own torn off arm he beat his head…not once, not twice, not even three times. He hit the man with his own arm 32 consecutive times killing him then throwing it beside him.

Jakari turned blood covering his face and body and walked inside the office.

She was inside, breathing hard, hair disheveled, clutching a weapon with white-knuckled desperation. Her confidence was gone now—peeled away layer by layer.

“You—” she started, voice breaking.

Jakari stepped inside.

She lunged.

He dodged and grabbed her arm.

Her arm snapped in his grip with a sound that echoed obscenely through the room. She screamed as she hit the floor, pain ripping through her composure, dragging her down into something small and terrified.

Jakari loomed over her, his shadow stretching across shattered glass, overturned furniture, and blood-slick marble.

“This ends,” he said calmly. No rage. No satisfaction. Just fact.

She laughed weakly through the pain, hysteria bleeding into her voice. “You think you’re—”

Jakari didn’t answer.

Jakari grabbed Mara by the collar and hurled her into the wall. She slid down, gasping, blood streaking the paint. She grabbed at a shard of glass, slashing wildly in a final, pathetic attempt.

Jakari caught her hand and twisted her wrist

The glass fell.he caught it with his other hand in a 360 motion

clean, precise, slicing open her neck blood squirting all over his face.

Mara collapsed.

Jakari left Mara where she fell.

He descended into the basement, moving mechanically now—cutting gas lines, ripping valves open, turning the building itself into a waiting fuse. The smell of gas thickened the air, sharp and dangerous.

When he reached the front doors again, he struck a lighter.

The flame danced briefly in the dark.

He let it fall.

Jakari didn’t look back.

He climbed a neighboring building and stopped at the edge, standing still as the seconds stretched.

Then—

The night shattered.

Fire tore upward, ripping through steel and glass as the agency folded inward, collapsing into itself with a roar that echoed across the city. Heat washed over him. The sky burned orange.

Jakari stood unmoving until the flames settled.

Then he turned away.

By the time he reached the warehouse, the third mark had taken everything it wanted—strength, clarity, restraint. His steps faltered. His vision dimmed.

He made it to the door.

And collapsed.

Jayla saw him hit the ground on the exterior cameras.

One second Jakari was upright—barely—and the next he folded, body giving out like a switch had been flipped. The feed jolted as the blast-lit skyline flickered behind him.

“Shit—” Jayla was already moving.

She bolted from the control room, boots pounding down the stairs two at a time. By the time she burst through the warehouse doors, Kelo was already there, crouched beside Jakari’s motionless body.

“He’s breathing,” Kelo said quickly, hooking an arm under Jakari’s shoulders. “But he’s gone.”

Jayla didn’t hesitate. “Back room. Now.”

Kelo lifted Jakari like he weighed nothing and carried him inside. Lina was right behind them, already clearing the path, snapping orders to anyone in the way. Asia followed—silent, pale, shaken.

They laid Jakari down on the reinforced cot in the back room. His chest rose and fell unevenly. His skin was hot—too hot.

Jayla rushed to the table and grabbed her iPad, hands steady even though her jaw was tight. She activated the scanner and swept it over his body. Data bloomed across the screen—heart rate, neural activity, stress spikes, internal heat levels.

“He’s burning through reserves,” Jayla muttered. “Heart’s stable but his brain activity is—” She paused. “It’s… layered. Like something stacked on top of itself.”

Lina adjusted Jakari’s position gently, slipping a jacket beneath his neck, making sure his airway was clear. “He’s been like this before,” she said quietly. “Just never this bad.”

Asia stepped closer. “What can I do?”

Jayla didn’t look up. “Give us space.”

Asia bristled. “I’m trying to help—”

“No,” Jayla snapped, sharper than intended. She caught herself but didn’t soften. “You’re not helping right now.”

Asia’s eyes flashed. “You don’t get to—”

“That’s enough.”

Lina straightened, her voice calm but iron-hard. “Jayla’s doing everything she can. You’ve done enough tonight.”

The words landed heavier than Lina meant them to.

Asia froze. Her mouth opened—then closed. She stared at Jakari, unconscious and broken on the cot, guilt flickering across her face before anger replaced it.

“Fine,” she said coldly and turned away.

Kelo hesitated at the door, glancing back once—at Jakari, at Jayla, at Lina—then followed Asia out, pulling the door shut behind them.

The room went quiet.

Only the soft hum of the scanner and Jakari’s uneven breathing remained.

Jayla exhaled shakily and took Jakari’s hand, her thumb brushing his knuckles as if grounding herself as much as him. “He shouldn’t have pushed it this far,” she whispered.

Lina leaned closer, eyes drawn to Jakari’s neck.

The mark was there now—clear as ink freshly set into skin. Dark. Defined. Alive.

“The third mark,” Lina said under her breath.

Jayla nodded without looking up. “I know.”

They stood there for a moment, neither speaking, both thinking the same thing.

“That kiss,” Lina said finally. “It wasn’t just wrong. It—” She stopped, swallowing. “It broke him.”

Jayla’s grip tightened slightly around Jakari’s hand. “He didn’t yell. He didn’t fight. He just… left.” Her voice wavered. “That’s what scared me.”

Lina looked down at Jakari, at the mark, at the cost written all over his still body. “He saw it,” she said quietly. “And instead of hurting them… he turned it inward.”

Jayla watched the vitals stabilize—slowly, reluctantly. “He always does.”

She brushed her thumb over Jakari’s pulse point, steady now but fragile. “Stay with us,” she murmured. “Just stay.”

Lina pulled a chair closer and sat, keeping watch.

Outside the room, voices murmured—confused, tense, uncertain.

Inside, Jayla held Jakari’s hand.

And waited.

Jayla was mid-adjustment, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she studied the stabilizing vitals on the screen, when she felt it—

The shift.

The weight in the room changed.

She looked down.

Jakari’s eyes were open.

For a split second she just stared, breath caught somewhere between relief and shock.

“Jakari—” she breathed, his name slipping out before she could stop it.

He didn’t answer.

He lay there, silent, eyes clear—not glassy, not confused. Awake in a way that told her he’d already sorted through what mattered.

Lina noticed the same instant Jayla did. Their eyes met.

Jayla swallowed. “You… you scared us.”

Jakari finally moved, lifting his head slightly. His gaze found Jayla’s face, then Lina’s, steady and unnervingly calm.

“I killed Mara,” he said.

The words landed flat. No pride. No rage. Just fact.

The room went still.

Jayla’s mouth opened, then closed. Lina didn’t speak at all—just stared at him like she was recalibrating reality around that single sentence.

“You… what?” Jayla finally whispered.

Jakari rolled his neck slowly, fingers brushing the mark there like it was an old bruise. “She’s dead.”

Silence again.

Then Lina stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

Jakari exhaled through his nose, pushed himself upright in one smooth motion. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t,” Lina said immediately, reaching for him. “Lay back down. You burned through—”

“No.” Jakari swung his legs off the cot and stood. His balance was solid. Too solid.

Jayla was on him instantly, fingers closing around his arm. “Jakari—wait.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

Jayla looked back at Lina. “Can you… give us a second?”

Lina hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll tell them he’s awake.”

She paused at the door, glanced once more at Jakari—at the quiet storm behind his eyes—then stepped out.

The door shut.

Jayla turned back to him, stepping closer, hands still resting lightly on his arms like she was anchoring him to the room. “You don’t have to face her right now,” she said gently. “You can take a minute. You’ve earned that.”

Jakari looked down at her. “No. It’s fine.”

The words were calm. Too calm.

He gently moved past her.

Jayla followed him out anyway.

The room outside was tense—Asia pacing, Kelo standing near the wall, Lina just stepping back in when Jakari appeared.

Asia’s face lit with relief for half a second.

She rushed forward. “Jakari—”

He stepped aside.

The movement was subtle, but unmistakable.

Asia froze. “What—?”

Jakari didn’t look at her. His eyes went to Kelo.

Kelo met his gaze.

And nodded.

Once.

That was all it took.

Jakari turned back to Asia. “Did you kiss him?”

Asia’s breath hitched. “What? No—”

The lie came too fast.

Jayla snapped.

“You’re lying, bitch.”

The word cracked through the room like a slap.

Asia spun on her. “Excuse me—?”

“Enough.”

Jakari’s voice cut through everything—low, sharp, echoing off concrete. The room fell dead silent.

He stepped closer to Asia, but there was no anger in his face now. Just something colder. Finished.

“I saw you,” he said. “I watched you kiss him.”

Asia shook her head desperately. “It wasn’t like that—he leaned in first—”

“Stop.”

The single word shut her down completely.

Jakari held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once to himself.

“We’re done.”

Asia stared at him like she hadn’t understood the language. “Jakari—no, please—”

He turned away.

Walked past her.

Back toward the room.

No shouting. No accusations. No scene.

That was what made it worse.

Behind him, Asia stood frozen, Kelo silent beside her, Jayla burning with restrained fury, Lina watching it all with a tight jaw and tired eyes.

The door closed behind Jakari.

And something irreparable closed with it.