JAYLA POV

Jayla stayed frozen in the doorway, the shadows swallowing her whole as she watched him unravel.

Jakari moved like he was trying to outrun something inside himself. His fists slammed into the bag again and again—jab, cross, hook, elbow—each strike landing with a violence that shook the chains overhead. The sound echoed through the warehouse, dull and brutal, like bones colliding. Sweat rolled down his bare back, muscles tightening and flexing with every movement, his breathing ragged but controlled in that terrifying way fighters had when they refused to stop.

She could see it on his face even from here.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was remembering.

Every punch came with a flicker—Asia’s smile, Asia’s laugh, the way she used to look at him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the world. Then the betrayal. The kiss. The silence afterward. Those memories twisted into something sharp, and his fists answered for them. The bag jerked violently as his power increased, strikes growing heavier, faster, snapping together like his body was learning mid-fight.

He was changing.

Jayla’s stomach tightened as she noticed it—his tattoos weren’t still. The ink along his arms and chest shifted subtly beneath his skin, lines stretching, symbols reforming as if reacting to his heartbeat. His movements became unnaturally precise, footwork flawless, timing deadly. This wasn’t just skill anymore. This was evolution.

Then she saw his eyes.

One flared dark pink, glowing faintly in the low light. The other sank into pure black, split clean down the center by a thin white line. Jayla’s breath caught in her throat. The third mark wasn’t just active—it was awake.

“Jakari…” she whispered, though she didn’t step forward.

The bag didn’t stand a chance.

With one final combination—too fast to track—his fist tore through the surface. The chains snapped with a metallic scream. The bag burst apart, stuffing exploding across the floor like snow, debris raining down around him. Jakari stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, fists trembling, knuckles raw and bleeding.

He didn’t look relieved.

He looked empty.

For half a second, Jayla thought he might collapse.

Instead, he wiped his hands on his pants, grabbed another bag, and hoisted it up like the last one hadn’t just disintegrated. Pain didn’t slow him. If anything, it sharpened him. His body ached—she could see it in the way his shoulders rolled, the way his jaw clenched—but his mind was racing somewhere far beyond exhaustion.

When he started again, it was worse.

No wasted movement. No hesitation. Every punch was ruthless, deliberate, lethal. He wasn’t venting anymore—he was forging himself into something harder, colder. Something built to endure loss without breaking.

Jayla stepped fully into the room then, her heart aching as she watched the man she cared about beat himself into a weapon.

He didn’t notice her.

And somehow, that hurt the most.

Jayla couldn’t watch anymore.

She stepped forward, boots splashing through sweat and torn stuffing, her voice cutting through the thunder of fists. “Jakari—stop.”

He didn’t.

His punches only got faster, heavier, each one cracking like something was breaking inside him instead of the bag. The chains screamed. The warehouse lights flickered.

“Jakari,” she said again, closer now. “You’re going to—”

She reached him, hands coming up instinctively, grabbing his forearms mid-combo. The impact rattled through her bones. For a split second he resisted, muscle and rage pushing back—

Then he broke.

His arms went slack. His body folded forward like the power had been yanked out of him all at once. Jayla barely had time to brace before he dropped, knees hitting the floor hard, forehead nearly touching the concrete.

She caught him.

Wrapped her arms around his shoulders, held him tight as his breathing stuttered and finally collapsed into something raw and human. Not sobs—Jakari didn’t sob—but something quieter, more dangerous. The kind of silence that came after too much pain.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, over and over, rocking slightly. “Let it go. I’m right here. You don’t have to hold it.”

His body trembled once.

Then again.

The glow in his eye flared—dark pink, low and pulsing—before slowly dimming. The black eye stayed black, the white line sharp and unblinking, but the violence drained out of him like blood from an open wound.

After a while, he pulled back just enough to breathe.

They sat against the wall together, backs to cold concrete, the wreckage of the warehouse spread out in front of them. Silence stretched—thick, heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Jakari spoke first.

“Mara’s dead,” he said quietly.

Jayla didn’t flinch. She’d known before he said it. Still, the words settled in her chest like ash. “I figured,” she replied softly. “You don’t look like someone who left loose ends.”

“She didn’t give me a choice.”

Jayla nodded, eyes forward. “She never does.”

Another pause.

She glanced at his arms, at the faint glow still threading through the ink beneath his skin. “Your tattoos,” she said carefully. “They were… reacting.”

Jakari leaned his head back against the wall. “They glow when something inside me breaks,” he said. “When I rage. When I stop pretending I’m okay.”

That made her go quiet.

Jayla looked away, jaw tightening, the words landing deeper than she wanted them to.

Minutes passed before he spoke again.

“I’m about to go.”

Her head snapped back to him. “Go where?”

“Somewhere I need to be.”

She reached out without thinking, fingers closing around his hand. “Just—” Her voice faltered. “Just come back.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

And nodded.

“I will.”

He stood, already pulling away, already rebuilding the walls she’d just watched him tear down. As he walked toward the exit, Lina appeared at the far end of the warehouse, slowing when she saw Jayla still against the wall.

Jakari passed her without a word.

Jayla rose as Lina approached. “What happened?”

Jayla exhaled. “Mara’s dead. The third mark’s active. His tattoos react when he breaks.”

Lina’s expression darkened. “Where’s he going?”

“Somewhere,” Jayla said. “But he’s coming back.”

They watched the door close behind him.

A beat.

Lina turned. “Where’s Asia?”

Jayla’s mouth set. “Armory.”

“Alone?”

Jayla nodded once. “Good.”

They moved together, boots echoing down the corridor. Inside the armory, Asia stood at a table, clipboard in hand, pretending to inventory weapons she already knew by heart. She looked up as they entered.

Jayla didn’t stop.

She crossed the space and ripped the paper from Asia’s hands. Lina locked the door behind them.

“What the hell—” Asia started.

“Why did you do it?” Jayla snapped. “Why did you kiss Kelo?”

Asia blinked, genuinely confused. “That’s none of your business.”

Lina stepped closer. “It is when it breaks someone who doesn’t even know how to feel anymore.”

Jayla’s voice sharpened. “You broke him. Do you know what Kylee would’ve thought if she saw this?”

Asia’s expression hardened. “Kylee isn’t here, is she?”

Jayla shoved her.

Asia shoved back.

Words exploded—anger, guilt, denial—until Lina stepped between them, hands up. “Enough.”

Asia sneered. “Why do you care so much, huh? He doesn’t mean shit to you.”

Jayla didn’t hesitate. “He means more to me than going behind his back like the hoe you are.”

Silence.

Jayla turned and walked out. Lina followed without looking back.

Later, Jayla sat at her workstation, screen glowing softly as she stared at nothing. Lina pulled up a chair behind her.

“You okay?” Lina asked.

Jayla swallowed. “Jakari deserves better.”

Lina tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Jayla hesitated, then finally said it. “I have feelings for him. But after tonight—after Asia—I’m not getting in his way. Not now. Not when he’s like this.”

She exhaled slowly. “He needs space. Not another complication.”

Lina rested a hand on the back of her chair.

And said nothing.

Because she understood.

I got on the computer first, scanning the cameras. There he was—Jakari—sitting on the rooftop, eyes fixed on the city lights and stars. Another night in Arkansas, quiet, heavy, like the world was holding its breath.

I hesitated, scanning the perimeter. Nobody was watching. No one could see me. And then, like I’d made up my mind, I slipped outside. The wind hit my face, carrying the faint scent of rain and asphalt. I found him just as he had been—still, silent, distant.

I sat down beside him. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at me. Just the city and the lights. The weight of the night pressed down on us.

Finally, I broke the silence. “It’s… a beautiful night, honestly,” I said softly.

Jakari sighed, a sound that seemed more like air leaving a balloon than a word. He nodded. I took it as agreement.

I rattled the car keys in my hand, letting a small smile play on my lips. “We could go for a drive, if you want.”

Jakari glanced at me. A scoff escaped him, but a small smirk followed. I couldn’t help it—I smiled back.

In one swift motion, he snatched the keys. “I’m driving,” he said.

We moved to the black Corvette parked nearby. The engine roared to life like it had been waiting for him, and I felt it vibrate under my hands. I grabbed my phone and quickly texted Lina: “We’re going for a drive. Keep everyone occupied.”

Her reply came almost instantly: “Of course 👍”

Jakari reversed the car out of the warehouse, tires crunching against gravel. The night opened up before us, empty roads stretching into nothing. Soon, we were on a silent highway, no lights, no one around, just us and the hum of the engine.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the glovebox. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth and turned on my playlist.

“MY FAVORITE ARTIST—JUICE WRLDDDD!” I yelled, unable to hide my excitement.

Jakari glanced at me, eyebrow raised. “What do you know about Juice WRLD?”

I blinked. “What do you know about Juice WRLD?”

He laughed, low and knowing. “Every song he’s written. Word for word.”

I froze for a second, shocked. “No way. Prove it.”

I hit play on one of his songs. The beat filled the car, vibrating through the leather seats. Jakari’s lips moved in perfect sync with every word, almost faster than the lyrics themselves.

“Black and White,” he said without hesitation, reciting each line flawlessly.

I gasped, then laughed, trying to match him. Soon, we were both yelling the lyrics, voices overlapping, the rain tapping against the windshield like a private audience. For a moment, the night, the anger, the brokenness—it all vanished.

In that car, with the highway stretching ahead and Juice WRLD blaring, Jakari and I weren’t fighting wars. We weren’t hurt, broken, or marked. We were just… two people laughing in the rain, holding on to something almost normal.

The Corvette purred under us, the engine a low growl, the city lights flickering against the windshield. I was halfway through singing along to Juice WRLD when red and blue lights flared in the rearview mirror.

I froze. “Uh… Jakari? Are we—”

“No,” he said, calm as ever.

“Then… what?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “The car is stolen, sooooo…”

I groaned. “Nope. I switched the plates, hacked their systems. This car is legal in their computers.”

He didn’t respond, easing the Corvette to the shoulder. Another patrol car pulled up behind us, its lights slicing through the night like knives.

“Jakari… something’s off,” I whispered, heart thumping.

The Corvette idled on the shoulder, engine low and patient. The red-and-blue lights washed over the interior in hard pulses, turning Jakari’s face into something carved from shadow.

The first officer stepped forward, voice sharp. “Step out of the vehicle!”

Jakari’s eyes met his, calm, unflinching. “Sir, it’s my right to know why you pulled me over.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Your vehicle matches one used in a street race earlier tonight. Step out immediately.”

“I wasn’t in a street race,” Jakari said calmly, voice steady. “You don’t have cause.”

The officer didn’t answer.

Instead, his hand drifted—slowly—toward his holster.

Jayla’s eyes flicked to his badge. B-7719. Name: R. Collins.

Her fingers flew across her phone, pulling databases, cross-referencing in real time.

Nothing.

No Collins. No badge. No precinct.

Her breath caught.

Before I could react, the first officer slammed Jakari against the rear of the Corvette. The sound of metal on bone echoed. My breath caught as I was pulled out of the passenger side, hands yanked behind my back.

Jakari in an instant gets free from the first officer. The officer goes for his baton and swings once Jakari grabs his arm and pulls him in then head-butts him breaking his nose forcing him to drop the baton and hold his nose. 

The second officer rushes and reaches for his gun. Jakari quickly grabs the baton and sends it to the officers head giving him time to go back at the first officer who tries to reach for his. He then grabs the officer by his head and sends it to the hood of his own vehicle. He takes his gun and shoots the second in his head. 

POP!

The third pulls his gun and lets off 3 shots at Jakari.

POP!

POP!

POP!

Jakari dashes behind cover. I took the chance to kick the officer on the back of his legs sending him on one knee. Jakari then pops out and shoots the officers hand forcing him to drop the gun. The officer screams I then stood and took his weapon and put it right on his head. 

The officer looked at Jakari then said something cold.

“You will die slowly boy…I can’t wait to see you in hell!” Jakari lifts his gun but it was too late I already pulled the trigger blood spilling on the ground and onto my clothes. I just shot and killed my first person…

The sound of the gunshot didn’t echo the way I expected.

It just… ended everything.

For a split second the world froze—no sirens, no wind, no city hum—just the weight of the recoil still buzzing in my hands. The officer collapsed at my feet, eyes glassy, blood spreading across the pavement and soaking into my clothes. I stared at it, unblinking, waiting for something to happen. For him to move. For time to rewind.

My fingers wouldn’t let go of the gun.

My chest forgot how to breathe.

“Oh,” I whispered, the word barely there. My ears rang, but not from the shot—from the realization. I did that. I killed him. My first. The thought didn’t feel real, like it belonged to someone else’s memory shoved into my head. My hands started to shake violently, knees buckling as the weight of it crashed down all at once. The gun slipped from my grip and clattered to the ground.

Jakari was in front of me instantly.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t ask questions. He caught me before I hit the pavement, one arm locking around my back, the other gripping my wrist like an anchor. “Jayla,” he said firmly, close, real. “Look at me.”

I couldn’t. My eyes were locked on the blood. On my hands.

“I—I didn’t mean—” My voice fractured. “I didn’t think—I just—”

“I know,” he said, low and steady, forcing my shaking hands against his chest so I could feel his heartbeat. Strong. Solid. Alive. “Breathe with me. You’re here. You’re safe.”

I sucked in air like I’d been underwater too long, breath hitching, vision tunneling. My stomach twisted, nausea rolling hard as the shock finally hit. Tears burned but didn’t fall—my body hadn’t caught up yet. Everything felt distant, muted, like I was watching myself from somewhere else.

“I killed him,” I said again, softer this time. Real this time.

Jakari didn’t deny it. He didn’t lie to me.

“You survived,” he said. “And you did what you had to do.”

I nodded weakly, though my hands were still trembling in his grip. Somewhere behind us, the bodies lay still. The night carried on like nothing had changed.

But I knew.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

Jakari moved fast after that.

He guided me to the Corvette with a hand firm at my back, shielding me from the bodies, from the blood, from everything I wasn’t ready to see anymore. I didn’t resist. I don’t think I could have if I tried. My legs worked on instinct alone, like they belonged to someone else.

The door opened. I slid into the passenger seat.

Jakari shut it gently—too gently for what had just happened—then rounded the car and got in. The engine came to life, low and controlled, and we pulled away from the scene without headlights flaring, without sirens chasing. Just asphalt and distance swallowing what we left behind.

No one spoke.

The city lights blurred past the windshield, but I wasn’t really seeing them. My eyes were fixed on my hands resting in my lap. Still shaking. Still stained. I flexed my fingers slowly, watching them move, trying to convince myself they were mine.

I kept replaying it.

The weight of the gun.

The pressure on the trigger.

The moment before the sound.

My chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left empty. I swallowed hard and stared straight ahead, watching the road stretch endlessly forward, wondering how something so small—one pull of a finger—could split a life clean in two.

Jakari drove with both hands on the wheel, jaw set, eyes forward. He didn’t rush. He didn’t slow down. He just kept us moving, like motion itself was the only thing holding everything together.

Streetlights washed over us in steady intervals.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t speak.

I just sat there in silence, staring through the windshield, knowing I would never forget the feeling of that moment—no matter how far we drove from it.

The warehouse doors hadn’t even finished sliding shut before Lina was already running.

She skidded to a stop when she saw us—Jakari stepping out of the driver’s side, me frozen in the passenger seat. One look at my face and her expression changed completely.

“Jayla—what happened?” Lina asked, breathless.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Then the words fell, flat and broken.

“I… I killed someone.”

Lina’s head snapped up to Jakari. He had just closed the door, his face unreadable, jaw tight. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t explain. That was all she needed to know.

Kelo and Asia appeared behind her, confused, eyes darting between us.

“What do you mean killed someone?” Kelo asked.

“What happened out there?” Asia added.

I didn’t answer. The noise around me faded again, like I’d been dropped underwater.

Lina moved instantly. She took my hand—warm, steady—and guided me toward the back room. “Come on. You’re with me.”

Behind us, Kelo and Asia turned to Jakari, voices overlapping, demanding answers. I didn’t hear what he said. Lina closed the door behind us, sealing the noise out.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Lina sat me down and held my hands in both of hers. “Jayla. Look at me.” I did—barely. “Tell me what happened.”

My throat burned. “He was on his knees,” I whispered. “He looked at Jakari and told him he’d die slowly. Said he’d see him in hell.” My voice shook. “And then… I don’t know. I blinked. And he was dead. My ears were ringing. I couldn’t hear anything.”

Lina pulled me into her arms.

“You had to,” she said firmly, her hand pressed to the back of my head. “You didn’t have a choice.”

That did it.

I broke. The sobs came hard and ugly, my body folding into hers like I couldn’t hold myself together anymore.

The door opened quietly. Kelo stepped in and closed it behind him. He didn’t speak at first—just sat beside me and rubbed slow circles into my back.

“I remember my first,” he said gently after a moment. “The juggernaut.”

I lifted my head, eyes red. “What… what did it feel like?”

Kelo exhaled. “Like I couldn’t control anything. Fear. Rage. Survival. And once it was done…” He shook his head. “I knew I couldn’t take it back. It still haunts me. But it taught me something.” He looked at me. “It was either him… or me.”

I nodded slowly. “Why does it hurt so bad?”

Lina answered before he could. “Because you still have your humanity. Asia and I—we haven’t crossed that line yet. But we know it’s coming. We’ll have to defend ourselves too.”

Silence settled again.

I stood without saying anything and walked back out.

Jakari was leaning against a table, Asia standing across from him, arms crossed. They were mid-conversation when I entered.

Asia turned, eyes sharp. “How do you do it?” she asked bluntly. “How do you kill people without feeling anything?”

The room went dead silent.

Jakari didn’t answer right away.

He looked at me.

And for just a second, something dark and tired moved behind his eyes.

The room was quiet now, heavy with tension. Jakari sank into the largest couch, his posture rigid yet controlled, like a predator settling into a corner while scanning its surroundings. I slid in beside him, careful not to crowd him, but close enough that he could feel my presence. Across from us, Asia and Kelo perched uneasily on the other couch, while Lina rested in the chair beside them, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The dim light of the warehouse painted the walls in muted golds and shadows, the hum of the ventilation system the only sound filling the space.

Jakari exhaled slowly, a deliberate sound that carried more weight than words. “You all want to know… what it’s like,” he began, voice low, steady, carrying an edge of quiet authority. “To kill.”

We leaned in instinctively, tension coiling like a spring.

“My first… I was four years old.” The words fell, light yet heavy, like a stone skipped across water. “Four. The masters… they put a man in front of me. Said I had to kill him to survive. On my knees, they handed me a knife.” His gaze dropped, distant and unreadable, as if seeing that moment behind his eyes again. “I froze.”

For a fraction of a second, his pink eye glowed faintly—a subtle reminder of the power and memory buried within him. “The masters didn’t care about hesitation. A group of teenagers, older, stronger… they beat me nine times. Nine times. And then… I took the blade. Cut his neck open.” His voice tightened, barely above a whisper. “It… it changed me. Turned me into something else.”

Lina’s hand rose instinctively to cover her mouth. Kelo’s jaw tightened until I thought his teeth might crack. Asia’s wide eyes flicked between us and Jakari, disbelief and unease written across her face.

“But,” Jakari continued, tone even, unflinching, almost chilling, “that didn’t make me evil. Life… life doesn’t make you wrong. It’s only wrong if you do it for pleasure, for fun. I don’t. Every life I’ve taken… it’s been to defend myself. To protect what’s mine. To protect the people I care about.”

I swallowed hard, staring down at my own hands, unable to stop the shiver crawling up my spine. “Does it… haunt you?” I asked, voice small, almost fragile.

Jakari nodded, pink eye flaring faintly. “Every single day. But… you learn to control it. The first kill… that’s the haunting. The second…” He flexed his hand slowly, deliberate, gaze unwavering. “…The second taught me that survival… keeps you alive. And you remember it. Every detail.”

Kelo’s voice cut into the room, low and careful. “How many… how many lives?”

Jakari’s eyes met his, unwavering, a calm storm behind them. “Five hundred and one.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. The room froze. Lina leaned back in her chair, breath caught. Asia’s knuckles whitened against the couch cushions. I could feel my own heart hammering in my chest, the sheer weight of what that number meant pressing down like lead.

Asia’s voice trembled, almost a whisper. “How do you… keep count?”

Jakari lifted a hand to his face, tapping the pink eye. “It remembers everything. Every life. Every moment. The eye keeps it in memory. Once you hit three hundred—the number Mara became—you get the pink eye.” His gaze softened ever so slightly, like he was reflecting more than telling. “It’s not a toy… it’s a warning. A record. A reminder.”

Lina’s brow furrowed, confusion and awe mingling. “But… you had it before Mara?”

He nodded slowly, voice measured. “The mark… it triggered it. It told the eye… that five hundred and one was happening. The eye remembers everything so you can survive. So you can adjust. So you can fight.”

The weight of it pressed on all of us. Five hundred and one. Five hundred and one lives, all etched into memory, all influencing every movement, every thought, every heartbeat. The line between human and weapon blurred in that quiet moment.

I looked at him, really looked. Despite the glowing pink eye, despite the cold, controlled tone, I saw something else: a man who carried the weight of every life on his shoulders, a protector shaped by unimaginable pain and discipline. He was human—but human with steel woven into his soul.

Asia finally whispered, almost to herself, “And we thought we were in control… we can’t even imagine what that does to a person.”

Jakari’s gaze swept the room, taking us in—not with threat, but acknowledgment. “This… this is what it means to survive. I don’t kill for fun. I kill because I must. And I’ll carry it… always.”

I reached out instinctively, placing a hand over his. The pink glow softened under my touch, and for a moment, the weight seemed just a little lighter, shared between us.

Kelo finally exhaled, voice rough but steady. “Five hundred and one… I don’t even want to imagine. But I understand why you fight. Why you keep going. It’s not for pleasure… it’s for survival.”

Jakari’s hand shifted slightly, resting on mine. “Exactly. And survival… doesn’t mean you lose yourself entirely. It means you endure. You remember. You protect. And you fight.”

The room sank into silence again, heavy, reflective, yet somehow steadier than before. We weren’t just a group of survivors anymore—we were witnesses. Witnesses to the man who had survived it all, who had carried five hundred and one lives in his mind and still moved forward.

And for the first time that night, I felt a quiet, undeniable respect—not just fear, but understanding. Jakari wasn’t just a killer. He was the line between chaos and order. The one who endured.

The warehouse had finally quieted down. Kelo, Lina, and Asia had gone off somewhere, leaving me alone with the glow of my monitors. My mind was still tangled, replaying everything—the fight, the bodies, the fear. My hands hovered over the keyboard, but I couldn’t focus.

Then I felt it—a hand on my shoulder. My body stiffened, heart skipping a beat.

“Jakari?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He sat down beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his arm brushing mine. I wanted to shrink away, but something in me rooted me to the spot.

He glanced at me, his pink eye flickering faintly in the dim light. “You were there for me,” he said softly. “After… everything, you stayed.”

I swallowed hard. “I… I just—”

“You’ve always been here,” he interrupted gently, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “Even when I was… impossible.”

My stomach fluttered. He reached for my hand, fingers brushing against mine. My breath caught.

“I don’t say it often,” he continued, leaning just slightly closer, “but… thank you. For being here. For not letting me go completely insane.”

I froze, staring at our hands. My chest tightened. The warmth of his touch was nothing like I’d felt before, and suddenly, Lina’s words—the little advice she had given me about how I felt about him—clicked.

Jakari chuckled softly, almost teasingly, his eyes glinting. “You know… you’ve got a habit of being in the right place at the right time.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words stuck. His attention, his gratitude, the way he trusted me—it was overwhelming.

He squeezed my hand gently. “I mean it, Jayla. You don’t know how much it matters to me.”

I looked down at our intertwined hands, heart pounding, mind racing. The fear and guilt from earlier moments melted slightly, replaced by something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel before. Hope. Warmth.

I hesitated, then asked quietly, my voice barely above a whisper, “Jakari… how many kills… does Star have now?”

He tilted his head, eyes flickering between the monitors and me, faint pink glow in his gaze. “Three thousand nine hundred ninety-seven,” he said calmly.

My jaw dropped. “Three… thousand… nine hundred ninety-seven?”

He nodded. “That’s as of now.”

“How do you know?” I asked, incredulous.

He smirked faintly, brushing my hair back from my face with a quick motion. “We made a blood bond years ago,” he said. “To keep track of each other’s… kill count. The pink eye tells us—it always tells us.”

I blinked at him, mind spinning, shock and fear colliding. He reached over and gently grabbed my hand again, giving it a small squeeze.

“And… you don’t want to think about that now,” he said softly, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “Not tonight.”

He leaned back slightly, pulling his hand gently, and motioned to the monitors. “Come on. Let’s focus on something else. Something… less grim.”

I followed, unsure, but he started talking about old missions, tactical puzzles, and ridiculous hypothetical scenarios—what if an army of raccoons invaded the city, how would we defend ourselves?—and I found myself laughing, the tight knot in my chest loosening with each word.

He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing mine. “Honestly,” he said, voice low, “you’re way too serious all the time. Someone has to make you laugh. I think I’m perfect for the job.”

I bit my lip, trying not to smile too wide. “Oh, really? You think you can handle me?”

Jakari tilted his head, smirk widening. “I don’t just think it. I know it. You’d be bored otherwise, wouldn’t you?”

I felt heat creep up my neck. “Maybe…” I whispered, unsure.

He nudged my shoulder playfully, leaning just enough to make me notice the faint scent of him. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re always here, watching, waiting. You don’t miss a thing.”

My cheeks flushed. “I’m… just doing my job,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“Your job?” he said, voice teasing, one eyebrow raised. “You mean keeping me alive and sane while looking ridiculously good doing it?”

I swallowed, heart racing. “You’re impossible.”

He laughed softly, low and warm, and squeezed my hand again. “Maybe. But you like it.”

I felt my lips twitch into a smile. “Maybe I do…”

He leaned back, letting the playful tension linger, and brushed his fingers lightly against mine again. “Look,” he said, voice softening, almost serious, “you’ve been here through… everything. And that matters. More than you know. You matter.”

I froze, my chest tightening. The warmth of his hand, the sincerity in his pink-flecked gaze… I couldn’t help it. “I… I want to be here. For you,” I whispered.

Jakari smirked again, gentler this time. “I know.” He gave my hand a small squeeze, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “And I promise… I always come back. Always.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling some of the weight of the night lift. My mind, still haunted by the fear and the bloodshed, softened, replaced with a flicker of something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time: trust. Comfort. And maybe, just maybe… something more.

We sat like that for a while, side by side, hands still linked, letting the monitors hum quietly. And for the first time since everything had gone wrong, I felt like I wasn’t carrying it all alone.

Jakari gave my hand one last squeeze, his pink eye flickering softly in the dim light of the monitors. “I’ll always come back,” he said, voice steady, warm, carrying that rare weight of promise. Then he stood, brushing past me with that calm, confident stride, and disappeared into the other room.

I stayed where I was, heart still racing slightly, letting the quiet settle around me. My mind replayed everything—the fight, the chaos, the weight of the lives we’d taken, and his words, the trust he’d placed in me. Somehow… it left me at ease. For the first time in a long while, it felt like a small piece of the storm inside me had quieted.

The soft footsteps of Lina drew me out of my thoughts. She stopped beside me, her eyes gentle but probing. “So… what happened?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

I gave her a small, shy smile, a real one that hadn’t appeared on my face in days. “You were right,” I admitted softly. “About everything… about talking to him, about being here for him. I… I didn’t realize how much it mattered to just be there, to not run, to stay.”

Lina crouched slightly so she was closer to my level, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I knew it. You’ve been carrying so much in silence, Jayla. You’ve been holding it all together for everyone else, but this… this moment, you needed it too.”

I exhaled slowly. “It’s just… I’ve always been afraid of what I’d feel if I let myself care too much. And now, after everything… I don’t know. But being there for him… I feel… lighter, somehow.”

Lina smiled knowingly. “That’s what I wanted you to see. Feelings aren’t weakness, Jayla. They’re a part of what makes you strong. And you… you’ve got more strength than you realize. You just needed to see that for yourself.”

I laughed softly, brushing a hand over my ponytail. “I guess… I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate it. Him… and me.”

Lina’s eyes sparkled faintly, teasing, but soft. “You mean Jakari?”

I nodded, biting my lip. “Yeah… him. I think I’m starting to understand what you were trying to say before.”

“And?” Lina prompted, leaning closer with a grin.

“And…” I looked down at my hands, then back up at her. “I… I care. About him. More than I expected. More than I thought I should.”

Lina’s smile widened. “Finally. Took you long enough.” She chuckled, then her tone softened. “Just remember… you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Just… be there. That’s enough.”

I nodded, letting her words sink in. “I will,” I said quietly. “I just… I hope I don’t mess it up. I’ve never… done this before.”

“You won’t,” Lina said firmly. “You’ve already done the hard part. You stayed. You didn’t run. You showed him he can trust you. Everything else will follow.”

I felt a warmth spread through me at her words. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For… noticing, for telling me.”

Lina reached over and hugged me briefly, a firm and supportive squeeze that somehow grounded me. “Always. Now go. Get back to work. You’ve got a mission to plan, and I don’t want you sitting here overthinking every little thing.”

I chuckled softly as she pulled back, shaking her head, and then walked away. I turned back to my computer, fingers hovering over the keys. As I typed up the next mission, my mind couldn’t help but drift to Jakari—his words, his touch, the faint glow of his pink eye, and the calm certainty of his promise. Even as I focused on plans and logistics, a smile tugged at my lips.

I realized, quietly, that I didn’t just feel relief—I felt… something more. Something dangerous, something wonderful. And I couldn’t wait for the next time I’d see him.