Destroyed

18

Roan

I thought my darkest hour was the moment I killed my brother. It took the agency months to break me. I withstood hours upon hours of torture, all so I could drag out my brother’s life.

But in the end, I’d done what they asked—not to prove my cold-heartedness and obedience, but because death was a better existence for him. Frostbitten, drowning with pneumonia, he’d wasted away from a bright, intelligent boy to a bag of rattling bones.

I’d put him out of his misery, hoping someone would do the same for me.

But I’d live that day a thousand times over to avoid watching Clara die.

She stole my will to live.

She stole my humanity.

I no longer wanted to fight.

I wanted to go Ghost and forget.

About everything.

I needed to inflict pain.

I needed to be inflicted.

I needed the sweet salvation of agony.

I needed to fucking die.

Anything. I would’ve accepted anything to be free of the revolving horror in my head.

She’s dead.

It’s over.

She hadn’t fucking cured me. She destroyed me. She took every good part left inside and stole it when she took her last breath.

I couldn’t handle seeing Zel come apart wrapped around her daughter. I couldn’t fathom the intolerable agony I would inflict if tried to console her.

Fuck, this conditioning!

Every part of me hummed with confusion. I wanted to fight. But I wanted to hold Hazel and wipe away her tears. I wanted to murder. But I wanted to scoop up the body of Clara and share my life with her. I wanted a miracle. I wanted to be fucking free so I could be there for the woman I loved.

But you’re a machine. Love and touch aren’t permitted. They would never be fucking permitted.

As much as I wanted to fall to my knees and wrap my arms around the two most important people in my life, I couldn’t. One touch and I’d kill. My mind wasn’t strong enough to override my training. And that shredded me, stole all my hope, and plummeted me into the dark.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Violent anger squeezed my muscles until I shuddered with the need to kill. I’d been around death—it reminded me of my past and my true identity.

I gripped my skull. I refused to regress. I refused to slip down the slide back into Ghost.

“My sheep!” Clara’s voice sprang into my head, making me howl in heartbreak. She’d gone. She’d left me. She’d taken all my progress, all my happiness with her.

I was nothing without her. Nothing.

I skipped over sadness and went straight to rage. My life was a fucking joke. Full of injustice and unfairness and every fucked up circumstance. Time and time again fate played with me—granting me a sliver of hope before crushing it completely and leaving me in despair.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Clara. Her collapsing. The wheezing. The sweet innocent taste of her as I forced oxygen into her failing lungs.

She broke my fucking heart, looking at me with terrified eyes, begging me to help her.

“Please, Roan.” Vasily’s blue eyes met mine, swimming with tears and fear. “I’m so cold, brother.”

The flashback exploded as my ears echoed with the sounds of Clara choking, gasping, dying.

She’d been the colour my life was missing. She splashed me in yellows and oranges; she turned my black soul into a riot of rainbows. And now her light was gone, leaving me in the dark once again.

“That’s it, Operative Fox. You know who you are. Fight us no more.”

Hazel.

After everything she’d given me, I couldn’t go back. I wasn’t strong enough to ride through the storm of sadness—I couldn’t be there for her.

Everything I’d worked so hard for didn’t matter anymore. What was the point when all the good things in my life were stolen anyway? No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t cure illness or bring loved ones back to life.

I couldn’t change the past—just like I couldn’t change the future. It was written in stone, crushing my bones, wrapping me in chains that I’d only just begun to shed.

“What is a Ghost, Operative Fox?” My handler stood above me, pacing my cell.

I clenched my teeth. I didn’t want to answer.

He kicked me, growling, “Answer me. What is a Ghost? What is your only purpose?”

Huddling into myself, I answered, “To kill.”

“Kill who?”

“Anyone who our clients wish to die.”

“And that makes you?”

“An assassin.”

My handler clasped his hands in front of him. “That’s right, Operative Fox. You are a highly trained, highly specialized assassin. Your life is ours. Your only task is to carry out orders from governments, individuals, and anyone else rich enough to buy your services. You are ruthless. You are merciless. We made you this way. You are a Ghost.”

The conditioning I’d been running so hard from opened its sinister arms, welcoming me back. It was like slipping into well-worn clothing, still warm from when I had shed them. I hated how easy it was to revert. How all my struggles meant nothing. They were right. They fucking owned me. Always had. Always would.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The urge to kill returned with a vengeance. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. Seeing Clara die had reminded me of my purpose. My one and only purpose.

I need to fight.

I need to draw blood.

I need to kill.

I needed a victim. If I didn’t kill and accept my heritage, I’d explode into a billion fragments, raining blood and bone.

“You thought you were free?”

I looked up at the walls of the dank pit I’d spent the last two nights in. I’d tried to run like a fucking pussy, but they caught me. Just like every time.

“You know there’s no escaping us, Fox. The sooner you give in, the easier life will be for you.” He kicked some snow from around the hole, landing on my freezing body. “Say you’ll obey, and you can come back inside.”

The thought of warmth and food almost broke me, but I was a stupid, stubborn ten-year-old—I wouldn’t give in.

I turned my back and didn’t look up when he left.

That night was the first time I dragged a sharp stick across my arm, trying to find freedom from the impossibility of my life.

The flashback ended, and I bolted.

I couldn’t be anywhere near Hazel. I wouldn’t have the self-control. She’d already lost her daughter I didn’t want to steal her life.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

I had no control left. I was a machine. A Ghost. I’d been stupid to try and change my life path. I needed to purge. I needed pain. Agony. Torture. I couldn’t live in a body while my soul tore itself into pieces.

Throwing myself down the stairs onto the floor of Obsidian, I searched the early arrivals.

You won’t find redemption here.

My mind darted into the unknown, feeding me alternatives that I’d never thought of.

Go back. You’ve accepted who you are. Go back. Go home.

My hands clenched at the thought of returning to Mother Russia. Returning to the place where my life was ruined. I would renounce everything: turn my back on Hazel, admit I could never heal. Everything I’d fought so hard for was a complete fucking joke.

Ghosts didn’t have families. Ghosts felt no pain.

So why am I in so much fucking pain?

My vision went hazy. I couldn’t do it anymore. Hating myself for my weakness; flaring with shame for my needs, I grabbed a pen from my pocket and stabbed it into my palm.

The agony washed through me with a wave of heat, followed by prickles of release. It granted a small spotlight of rationality in the chaotic storm of confusion.

I knew what I had to do.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Zel owned me more than anyone, and I wouldn’t survive without her. Clara had gone. Hazel was all I had left. I’d kept secrets from her. So many fucking secrets.

I wasn’t worthy. I wasn’t safe.

But I could change all that.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

My heart died in my chest at the thought of betraying her. She would need me. She deserved a shoulder to cry on and another person to share the burden of grief. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while I existed on the border of Ghost and sanity. I couldn’t hug her. I couldn’t console her pain.

The moment I let my guard down, I would snap her neck.

I couldn’t give Zel what she needed. I wasn’t whole.

And I meant to fucking deserve her.

My anger turned outward, focusing on the handlers who’d fucked up my life.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The conditioning throbbing in my brain was right. I needed to kill. And now I had my victim. I was done being an outcast. I was done not being normal.

I thought Clara had been my cure.

I was wrong.

The fucking cure was inside me all along. I held the key to fixing myself by returning to my past and annihilating them.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

“Fuck this.” I let down all my walls. I welcomed the ruthless conditioning with open arms. I smiled as the ice entered my limbs and filled my head with fog. I allowed my muscles to remember exactly what I’d been programmed to do.

I went Ghost.

And I lost myself.

Mother Russia.

The Iron Fist of a past I couldn’t out run. Bleak and barren and home to my misery.

I only vaguely remembered how I got here. I bought every ticket in the first class cabin to ensure no one touched me. I locked myself into the freakish persona of an assassin and no one—not even the air hostesses came near me.

The moment I landed, I stole a 4WD to drive into the snowy wilderness. I said goodbye to no one. I just disappeared.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The conditioning throbbed harder and harder, recognising its place of origin. I was returning to my handlers and the training was fucking ecstatic to embrace the true machine I was.

I had no belongings apart from some cash, passport, and my memories, but that’s all I needed. The establishment stole me when I had nothing, and I would return with nothing.

And then I’d make them fucking pay.

Over and over again.

I was ready to go rogue and dance in blood. The ice was back in my veins, howling like a Siberian winter. I’d embraced who I truly was—who they made me become.

“You’re not a bad man. You can’t be a bad man because I love you and well, I couldn’t love a bad man.” Clara’s voice whipped around me with the artic wind.

I shook my head as a fresh, crippling wave of grief threatened to overshadow the rage. I couldn’t let myself mourn. Not yet. Not when I had so much to do.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Sucking in a deep breath, I deliberately pushed Clara from my thoughts.

I stood on the perimeter of the establishment, hidden by thick trees. Thunder rumbled above, chasing jagged lightning, illuminating the compound in flashes of white.

My skin crawled beneath my black attire. Home. Hell. My place of birth from child to killer.

Snow flurried like icy tears—glistening in the dead of night, raining over the landscape and hiding a multitude of sins. Russia was just like I remembered—frigid, ruthless, uninhabitable.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Australia, Hazel, Clara,—all of it seemed like a dream. I felt as if I’d never left this terrible wasteland and everything in me said to run.

Beneath the pulsating conditioning all I wanted to do was run far, far away and never look back. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be fucking free from all of this.

My muscles tensed. You will be free. Kill them all. Make them give you freedom by taking their fucking lives.

Straightening my back, ignoring the howling wind and jagged teeth of frost, I prepared for battle. I would win tonight. I would take back what was mine.

“You always were a weakling, Fox. Got to beat that compassion out of you.”

The flashback came from nowhere as I stared at the gargoyle embellished facility—so similar to the building I’d erected at home.

“You’re no one to anyone anymore. You’re an orphan, a drifter, an unknown. We are now your family, your shelter, your owners. Never forget that.”

Rows upon rows of windows, containing cell upon cell of new recruits and old, glowed dimly in the night. My heart thundered to think how many more they’d ruined while I’d been gone.

“Time to work, Fox.”

I rolled over, clenching my teeth against the broken radius in my left arm. I couldn’t remember a thing.

My handler laughed. “Trying to recall what some dickshit paid you to do last night? You won’t, Operative Fox. We programed you to forget. You’re brainwashed to suffer short-term amnesia whenever you complete a mission. That way you cannot compromise yourself or us if you’re ever caught. You cannot lie if you don’t remember.”

I wrapped my hands around my head, trying to squeeze the flashbacks from my thoughts. I couldn’t go to war compromised. I had to stay clearheaded and be the ultimate Ghost.

A sudden image of Clara consumed me, almost bringing me to my knees. Her innocent smile, her intelligent eyes—all gone.

“Roan, don’t fight with my mummy. She needs you.”

My stomach snarled, tangling with my heart. I was a fucking bastard for leaving her. Abandoning her and Zel when she needed me most.

I couldn’t breathe at the thought of never seeing Clara again. I’d never fight the horrible urge to kill such innocence again all while falling madly fucking in love with her.

Hazel replaced her daughter, taking me hostage. Her tears, her grief gripped my heart while the haunting sound of her wails danced on the wind. I hated that I wasn’t there for her. I hated I wasn’t man enough, strong enough.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Blinking, I forced them both from my thoughts. They had no place here. Nothing else existed but the machine I was and the bloodbath I was about to indulge in.

Balling my hands, I took a step out of the tree line. Exposed in the cleared snowy moat of land around the house, I shed everything but my mission. I ceased to be Roan. I ceased to be heartbroken by a little girl’s death. I ceased to hate myself for not being there for the mother.

For this mission, I was nameless.

I was Karma. I was Fate.

I ran.

The backdoor, fortified with iron that I helped maintain, and a lock I helped design, barred my entry. Scraps littered the snow from dinner and trails of blood drifted off into the distance where local wolves took recruits that hadn’t made the cut.

I might have turned blind from a psychological issue to avoid more horror, but others—they just shut down. Nothing reached them. Not even the threat of death.

Picking up a rock resting by the door, I smashed the hinges with all my strength. I’d never be able to crack the lock, but the hinges—they were old and weather-worn. Wood splintered and groaned mixing with the howling wind.

By the time the door creaked open, my hands were bloody and I shook uncontrollably from ice.

I weaved through shadows, breaking into the one place I’d always tried to break out of. It was dark and late and no one was around. Dancing around tripwires and avoiding alarms, I moved deeper into Hell.

I infiltrated an operation so cocky and arrogant, they never thought to fear one of their own coming back to end them. They were so self-assured, believing their human weapons were subservient and loyal to the end.

They had it wrong.

No one wanted to be there.

No one wanted to serve in purgatory.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

My first stop was the armoury. A range of knives, blades, and other equipment lay as I remembered from two years ago. The anvil was the same. The stench of sweat and metal the same. But there were new items, too. The finesse not as refined, the lines not as straight. The smithy had been the only place where I’d found a smidgen of peace.

“I want you, Fox. I want to touch you.” Hazel’s voice rang in my ears, buckling my heart. I wanted so fucking much for her to touch me, to not have to deal with the shit inside my head.

The fucking bastards had to die. It was my only chance at freeing myself forever. My last hope for a cure. My last chance at happiness with a woman I desperately wanted to hug and protect.

I stood over a pile of weapons, taming my rapid heartbeat. I wanted to inflict pain. After all, I was a fucking Ghost.

I collected crescent moon blades, a silenced pistol, and a hammer I used so often to beat metal into submission.

That was all I needed.

My breathing calmed, my muscles bunched in preparation, and I slunk like the demon I was down unforgotten corridors. No spike of emotion. No residual humanity. I embraced the ice.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The witching hour was mine and I snuck into the first unseen bedroom, morphing with the dark. I didn’t know who’d created the society of Ghosts, or who bought our services. Some missions had been politicians, other movie starlets. There was no rhyme to who we killed—if they had money, they could buy us. We were purely guns for hire and it was time to burn the fucking place to the ground.

The first man I stood over wasn’t significant. I wasn’t in his realm of minions. He was handsome, well-built, and fast asleep like a fucking angel. But he was a ruthless dictator just like the rest—profiting on others pain and misery.

I pressed one hand over his mouth.

His eyes flew wide, confusion smothering.

He squirmed and his hands came up to touch me.

It was instantaneous. To be inflicted is to inflict.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

I bowed to the command for the first time in two fucking years.

With precision and an emotion almost described as serenity, I dragged the sharp blade over the gristle and tendons of his throat.

Instantly, warm, coppery blood sprang from his body in a brutal cascade. His eyes wrenched wider, his mouth snapped below my palm, and he thrashed around in death throes.

His heart pumped rapidly toward death and the stench of his bowels loosening serenaded him from living to corpse.

I left his grave and returned to the hunt. The hunt for evil. He was the first to die, but definitely not the last. I gave myself completely to the sweetness of killing. I threw myself into my task and everything else ceased to exist. Time blurred, blood flowed, and men died like fucking flies.

Room after room, I entered and dispatched. Five with the silenced gun. Seven with a blade. Two with the hammer. Four with my bare hands.

The night belonged to death, and I was the executioner.

The eighteenth handler died just before daybreak. His final cry petered out, smothered by my hand, and I stood upright rolling my shoulders.

The conditioning pulsed behind my eyes and I could barely feel my extremities. My body had become an instrument of carnage and I didn’t focus on the splatter of blood or other human tissue covering my clothing.

Stalking down the corridor, I knew I wouldn’t find my handler in this wing. He always slept alone on the opposite side of the compound. He was the next to die. He was my final trophy.

I savoured the anticipation and prowled through the dwelling, suffering blending memories of Obsidian and here. Every door looked the same, the length of corridor the same. I kept expecting to see Oscar appear or Clara bolting toward me.

“You’re not a bad man.”

Clara had that wrong. I was the worst sort of man: I was a murderer.

Instead of rushing to finish my mission, I stopped to look at the cells. I couldn’t let them die behind locked doors when I snuffed out the final handler. Retracing my steps, I headed to the heart of the house where the alarm system rested along with the security mainframe that kept every keypad lock secure on the cells.

With my blade, I stabbed it into the main console and severed power to the rest of the compound.

Instantly, alarms erupted, screaming a warning, shredding the silence of the dawn.

Rushing back upstairs, I passed children, teenagers, and adults as they shuffled out of their rooms. Recruits and operatives, all in different stages of training looked bewildered but with a small spark of hope in their eyes.

The ones who knew me nodded in silent respect before charging down the stairs and out into the freezing wilderness. The ones who didn’t were coaxed by others to leave.

It only took a few minutes before the entire establishment was an empty tomb.

Another minute until the person I was on my way to see, found me. I didn’t hear him arrive, but I sensed him.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The hair on my neck stood up on end as I spun to face my nemesis. My handler stood behind me, hands on his hips, his perfect face looking like a flawless sculpture. He was blond and beautiful, but beneath his perfection lurked oil and ink and filth for a soul.

My heart bucked, sending thickening fear through my blood. The conditioning stuttered and failed when faced with the one man who was king over me.

“If it isn’t Operative Fox. I see you disobeyed orders once again and didn’t swallow your last task.” He cocked his head. “And you’re no longer blind. Interesting.”

I didn’t say anything. Clamping my lips shut, I swallowed my terror and stood my ground.

This man had hurt me more than anyone and the conditioning crunched my spine, ordering me to bow to him. To grovel for forgiveness.

“I love you, so you can’t be a bad man.” Clara’s sweet voice pierced through my fog, giving me something to latch onto. I wouldn’t let him win. Not this time.

He suddenly laughed. “How did you pull that trick, Fox? I must say. Very inventive.”

I clenched my hands around the hunting knife. “No trick. You warped my mind so badly, my brain decided it no longer wanted the gift of sight. You drove many of us mad with what you made us do.”

Clucking his tongue, he shook his head. “Always so dramatic.” He paced forward a couple of steps, closing the distance between us. Holding out his hand, he growled, “Give me the blade, Operative Fox. Return to your cell immediately. Punishment will be absolute after this heinous treason.”

My legs spasmed with the compulsion to obey. I took a step back unable to ignore the conditioning forcing me to my old cell. It crippled my mind, took my limbs hostage. It was like fighting a puppet master holding all my fucking strings.

Closing my eyes, I thought of Obsidian and the man I’d become. I’d struck fear into the hearts of others. I’d become more than just an operative. That man wasn't afraid of this blond asshole.

I’m not afraid.

I forced my foot to move, followed by another.

“Obey me, Fox. Stand down.”

I groaned, clutching my stomach as a wash of sickness filled me. Obey. Obey. Obey. Once again, the conditioning buckled my body, making me groan. I belonged to him and it hurt—fucking hurt—to disobey.

Gritting my teeth, hating the white smog settling over my eyes, I pressed forward another step. “Not this time.”

Every shuffle rebooted my heart from thrumming with terror to thudding with an entirely different beat. One that craved blood. I had violence running in my veins and another’s life-force on my hands. He might have butchered and tortured me, but ultimately he made me stronger. Strong enough to withstand him. Strong enough to end him.

“I’m fucking warning you, operative. Take one more step, and I’ll slaughter you where you stand.”

The conditioning rushed me like a swarm of wolves, tearing savagely at my body. Obey. Obey. Obey.

I locked my legs into position. Fighting. Battling. Winning.

Then I took another step.

My handler bared his teeth, eyes livid. “One more fucking move and I’ll let the bears have you.”

Only a foot between us. Our heights were even, our body size mirror images of each other. However, unlike the past, I was no longer his slave.

He was mine.

I struck.

Grabbing his neck, I squeezed with everything left inside me. “You no longer have the right to tell me what to do. You never had the right. You’re the fucking devil for making me destroy my family, and it’s time you returned to hell.”

With cold eyes, he lashed out and a hot laceration erupted down my side. “It’s not me who will die tonight.”

I dropped him, and he scuttled back. Hunching into a crouch, he bared the knife still red from slicing me. “You don’t stand a chance against me. I own you. Give up now and die like the traitor you are.”

I snarled, “Never.” Exploding forward, I threw away my weapons, and tackled him to the floor. We rolled and fought, grunting and growling. He struck twice with his blade, sending heat spilling down my side. I didn’t feel the pain. I didn’t acknowledge anything but the objective of killing.

“Pity you don’t have any more family, Fox. We’d make them pay for your disobedience.” He punched my jaw as we rolled. He got the upper hand and slammed my skull against the floor. Whispering in my ear, he said, “You always were a little bitch, Fox. Maybe I should fuck you and remind you of your place.”

His hand slapped my ass, and my mind stretched to breaking point.

I snapped.

I hated this man. Hated. Fucking hated.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

In the moment of choice between stealing a life and torturing a soul free from its mortal body, I switched from human to machine. I didn’t want to dispatch him quickly. I wanted to make him pay. Pay for everything he’d done to me, to my loved ones, to countless other victims.

He would fucking pay for his trespasses and then he would burn in hell.

My mind shut down.

And I vanished into ruthless revenge.

I watched her.

From my place in the shadows, I watched the woman I wanted more than anything.

I didn’t mean to stalk her. To follow in secret and witness her private sorrow, but I couldn’t go to her. Time and time again, I tried to move my legs and walk to her, but I didn’t trust myself. I wanted to wipe away her tears, and hold her. I wanted to rock and console her, but although I’d found hope, I hadn’t found a cure.

My jaw gritted as my heart raced. Anger and frustration had replaced the iciness of the conditioning. After I’d finished with my handler and the massacre of three nights ago, I’d showered and dressed and bandaged my wounds. I’d boarded a plane and returned from frost to sunshine and hoped it was over.

Whenever I tried to recall that night, only fragments returned. I couldn’t remember in detail what happened. I remembered walking over body parts and opening the doors wide so local scavengers could clean up my mess. I remembered a red cascade of blood sluice down the drain in the shower. Some of it mine, but most of it from my handler. I remembered the stench of fear coming from a man who’d brutalized me all my life. I remembered his screams, and the blessed relief I felt as the obedience of my past slowly unbound its tight web around me.

My conditioning weakened the moment he died. It was as if the orders in my head melted from blizzard to softly falling snow, granting a reprieve from the agony of ice.

I wanted to rejoice at my newfound freedom, but then I mourned because instead of being completely unhindered, I was only marginally free. The Ghost persona hadn’t fully gone. And I grieved everything I would lose because of it.

I would never be normal. I would never be able to fully relax and sleep harmlessly beside Hazel. I would always have to monitor my thoughts and actions.

I was fucking exhausted, and there was no respite in sight.

Behind my sunglasses, and hiding place by the cafe across the road, I watched as Hazel and Clue disappeared into a second-hand shop. I hated having her out of my sight.

For three nights and two days, I followed her. I slept outside her flat in my car. I had countless conversations with her in my head. I acted out exactly how I would go to her and how I would apologise. But every scenario didn’t end well, and my confidence deserted me.

How could I say sorry for leaving when her daughter died? How could I beg forgiveness for being a man who would never be able to hold her?

So, I stayed in the dark and watched her go through the motions of life. She barely left the apartment and it gave me plenty of time to figure out how to do something—not for Hazel, but for Clara.

I used her love of horses as inspiration for her final resting place and I called the one person who I knew would execute my plan flawlessly all while being there for Zel.

When Clue answered the phone, I almost broke down and asked to talk to her. To murmur condolences and tell her how I felt, but I stayed focused and stuck to the plan. Clue had taken my offer with eager arms and within a day, she’d dragged Zel out of the house to make preparations.

With my heart racing, I charged across the street. Entering the second-hand shop, I made sure Hazel didn’t see me and ducked behind shelving groaning with knick knacks and paraphernalia. A whiff of dust and ancient belongings filled my nose.

Clue and Hazel were at the back of the shop. I moved closer, staying hidden so I could hear what they said.

“How about this one, Zelly?” Clue held up a bright pink, plastic pony with see-through wings.

Hazel smiled softly. “Yes. She always wanted a Pegasus.”

Clue laughed quietly and reached out to hug her. “That’s true.”

They clung to each other.

My heart squeezed with jealousy. I cursed the unfairness—the fucked-up mind I lived with. It should be me holding her and sharing tales of a little girl taken too soon. But I was also grateful that Clue was there for her.

The two women parted, before rummaging around in a bin full of toys. Glittery ponies, bright blue and rainbow ponies—they came out and were placed into a basket.

“You know, I bet she’s watching us right now and laughing.”

Zel looked up, her skin dull with grief. “What do you mean?”

Clue smiled. “Well, she probably has a real Pegasus and unicorn by now. And she’ll be laughing thinking how much we’re missing out on. How silly these plastic things are.” She flicked the tail of one glow in the dark horse.

Zel looked down at the yellow pony in her hands. “I like to think of her like that—surrounded by things she loves.” She sniffed, giving a watery smile. “I know I’ve had time to prepare for her passing. I know the doctors told me what to expect and what stages of grief I would go through, but nothing fully prepares you for it.”

Clue stopped rummaging and gave Zel her full attention.

“I keep thinking she’s just around the corner. I’ll see the tip of her hair disappearing around a building, or hear her voice on the breeze.” Zel’s eyes welled up and my heart shattered. “I keep hoping she’ll come bounding home from school, or trail bubble bath all over the floor.” She rubbed the centre of her chest as her voice turned thready with sadness. “I miss her so fucking much it hurts. It hurts in my head, my eyes, my back, my soul. It doesn’t matter that I know she’s in a better place. It doesn’t make it any easier knowing she’s no longer in pain.”

Her eyes met Clue’s, lost and in pain. “I don’t—don’t know how to go on.” She hiccupped as a torrent of tears flowed down her cheeks. “It’s so damn hard. So unfair to be the one left behind.”

Clue scooted closer and gathered her into a huge hug. “Aww, Zel. It’s okay.” She stroked her hair, rocking just like Zel had done when Clara died. Clue began to cry silently. Even though she cried, she never stopped being strong for her friend. “You need to give yourself permission.”

“Permission?” Zel pulled back, smashing at the tears on her cheeks.

Clue nodded. “The reason why you’re hurting is because you’re clinging to the past. You’re not ready to face a future without her. And that’s okay. It’s okay to miss her, Zelly. You’ll miss her every damn day, but you can’t forget to live either.”

She shook her head. “Clara wouldn’t want you killing yourself with grief and I don’t want it either. We both knew this was coming. You just need to find acceptance and rejoice in her life, rather than drown yourself wishing for a different outcome.”

Zel blinked, sucking in a cleansing breath. “How are you coping? You’re so strong. You’re letting me lean on you so much.”

Clue pulled away, rubbing Zel’s arms. “I have Ben when it gets too much. He’s been amazing. And even though there’ll always be a hole in my heart where Clara used to be, I can’t begrudge or scream at life for taking her. She taught me so much—she taught you so much. Hell, she even taught that asshole from Obsidian so much. Something as amazing as Clara doesn’t last long. You have to come to terms with it; otherwise you’ll never be happy again.”

Zel sniffed and anger filled her eyes, muting out the sorrow. “I can’t believe he left. He left me crying over my dead daughter and couldn’t even bring himself to stay.” Zel balled her hands, clutching the yellow horse. “Clara may have died that day, but he proved to me I can’t rely on anyone. I survived on my own and I was stupid to let him in. He made me hope. He made me rely on him. He made her death so much harder because I thought I would be able to share it with him. Find comfort together. But he was a spineless coward.”

Clue bit her lip. “Don’t judge until you know the full story, Zelly. He might have a good reason.”

Zel laughed coldly. “Of course he has a good reason. He can’t touch. And I can’t blame him. But it doesn’t mean I can forgive him. I’m done with it all. I need to say goodbye to Clara, then find a fresh start.”

I couldn’t listen anymore. I backed away feeling as if my veins were open and spewing blood. She’d flayed me open, leaving my beating heart unprotected.

She would never be able to forgive me.

“You’re not a bad man. I love you, so you can’t be a bad man.”

I earned the love of an eight-year-old, yet I couldn’t earn the love of a woman I would fucking die for.

No matter what I did, it would never be enough to repair the past and give her what she ultimately needed: a man who could hold her and fight battles on her behalf. I was a fighter. An assassin and mercenary. I could be so many things for her. I just had to figure out how to be the rest.

“Stop fighting with my mummy. I don’t want you to.”

I swore on Clara’s life I would find a way to be everything Zel needed. Every touch would still be torturous. Embraces almost a mythical dream. But it was possible, because I wouldn’t stop until I made her mine forever.

I’d done everything I could to ‘fix’ myself, but I refused to face reality. The brainwashing was too deep inside me. Too imbedded in my psyche to ever let me go. However, the intensity had faded just enough. I had more power. Power over myself. Power over my thoughts. It was a beginning.

I will find a way.

I would fucking love Hazel and share her future and be there for her always.

Fox died the night of the Russian massacre.

Roan had been reborn.

Zel wanted a fresh start.

And I knew exactly what to do to make her wish come true.