I wandered through the winding streets, the bustling market fading as I stepped away from its clamor. The cries of vendors hawking their wares were swallowed by the distance, and the smells of fried food and spiced meat, thick with oil and heat, clung to the air. My footsteps were unsteady, and I noticed only then that I had no clear destination. It wasn’t about where I was going—just that I needed to be somewhere else. Before I knew it, I stopped in front of Kristine’s door.
The house loomed silently, too still. Even the trees outside held their breath, limbs suspended in time. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket, letting the cool air push against my skin. I steadied my breathing as best I could before raising my fist to knock.
The door creaked open with an eerie slowness. Kristine appeared in the threshold, but she wasn’t the Kristine I remembered—her vibrant energy now dampened, replaced by something softer, quieter. Her usual wild hair was bound in a neat bun, and the round glasses perched on her nose softened the sharpness of her features, giving her an unexpected air of authority.
“Suki,” she greeted, her voice unusually gentle, filled with a mix of surprise and warmth. “Didn’t think you’d come by.”
I swallowed, the ache in my chest tightening, choking the air from my lungs. "Got time for a chat?" My voice was raw, carrying the weight of a hundred things I hadn''t said.
Without hesitation, Kristine stepped aside, an unspoken invitation in her gesture. I passed her, the warmth of the house enveloping me, a stark contrast to the crisp chill of the outside air. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon settled into my senses, but in the eerie stillness of the place, it felt oddly out of place.
She led me down the narrow hallway, and I saw pictures of family smiling from the walls. Houseplants flourished in the corners, their green vitality a sharp contrast to the quiet tension that hung in the air.
We arrived in the living room, and Kristine gestured to the couch. I sat, feeling its weight like an anchor dragging me deeper into the moment.
“I was about to make tea,” Kristine said, her gaze flicking between the kitchen and me. "Want some?"
"No thanks," I replied, my voice barely more than a breath. I didn’t have the energy for small talk.
Kristine studied me, a quiet concern in her eyes, but she didn’t push. She simply settled beside me, letting the silence stretch between us. It was thick, pressing against me, but it wasn''t uncomfortable—not with her there. It was just... there, as if both of us were waiting for something.
Finally, Kristine broke the quiet. “What’s going on, Suki?”
Her words cut through me sharper than I expected, more forceful than any she had said before. I wanted to dodge her gaze, change the subject, but her steady eyes held me captive. There was no escaping it now.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I don’t think I belong in the WEO,” I blurted, the words scraping past the walls I’d built around myself. “I don’t have what it takes.”
Kristine blinked, her expression shifting slightly in confusion. She leaned forward, her voice coaxing, warm. “What do you mean?”
I clenched my fists, the fabric of my jacket tight under my grip. "I just... I don’t think I’m cut out for it. That’s all."
Kristine didn’t say anything at first. She waited—her quiet presence, like a steady current beneath me, drawing me deeper into myself. After a long pause, she spoke again, her voice calm but firm. “Why? Isn’t your dream to be an Esper like your dad?”
The mention of my dad hit harder than I had expected. It rang in my ears, an unresolved pain, an echo of guilt I couldn’t shake. “My dad…” I ran a hand through my hair, the motion futile against the tightness in my chest. “I used to think if I pushed hard enough, I could live up to it. But maybe I’m not like him. Maybe… maybe it’s not what I really want.”
Kristine didn’t rush me. She just sat with me, her calm weight solid beside me. Her silence spoke more than words ever could, a steady comfort. After a long moment, her voice pierced the stillness once more, soft but clear: “Are you sure? Or maybe you’re just scared?”
Her words struck at the heart of everything I had been avoiding—an admission too raw to face, and yet, it spilled from my chest before I could stop it. “Yeah," I nodded, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m scared.” Saying it felt like breaking apart, like admitting I wasn’t what I thought I was supposed to be.
Kristine didn’t push further. She simply let the silence remain, wrapping us both in it like a warm blanket. Her hand rested gently on my shoulder, a comforting weight that felt more like home than I ever remembered.
After a moment, Kristine shifted closer. She grabbed a cushion, pulling it into her lap before patting it with an inviting motion. "Come here," she murmured, her voice soothing. "Just for a minute. Let it out."
I hesitated. But the sound of her voice, so inviting, so steady, broke whatever resistance remained. I leaned into her, resting my head on her lap as her fingers gently ran through my hair. The rhythmic motions seemed to unravel some of the tightness in my chest, and, for the first time in days, I allowed myself to rest.
“You’ve changed, you know,” she said softly, her words a balm to the rough edges inside me. “You’re still figuring things out, but you’re not the same person I saw in the hospital. You’ve got more in you than you think.”
Her words settled around me like dust in a sunbeam. The calm between us held more than silence. It felt like permission to breathe, to stop pretending I had it all together. And for a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe it—that maybe I could be more than what I had convinced myself I was.
“You’re more than enough, Suki,” Kristine’s voice carried the weight of truth. "You don’t have to be anyone else. Just be you."
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back the tide of emotion. "Thanks," I whispered, unable to say anything more.
Kristine’s soft hum vibrated gently through me, her hand never pausing in its comforting motion. In that moment, surrounded by her warmth, I felt like I could begin to put myself back together.
---
The city stretched before me, a vast canvas of darkness interrupted only by the distant twinkling of lights. A figure stood alone at the edge of the rooftop, his eyes scanning the sprawling world below. The wind whispered through the cracks in the building, carrying with it an almost suffocating stillness, as if the night held its breath.
A black dropship rested on the helipad, its sleek form contrasting sharply against the glowing city below. The engines were still, yet something hummed deep inside, a low, pulsing energy that spoke of what was to come. It was waiting. I could feel the anticipation, a quiet tension vibrating through the air.
"Ready for takeoff," Elijah’s voice broke through the silence. It was calm, commanding, yet there was an edge to it, a sharpness born of familiarity with danger.
Stacy’s lips pulled into a half-smile, though her eyes betrayed something else—an unease that slipped through the cracks of her composed facade. She adjusted the strap of her gear, eyes flicking over her team. "Uh-huh, everyone''s good," she replied, but even to an outsider, the tension in her voice was palpable.
Elijah noticed but said nothing. He simply turned toward the dropship, his gait purposeful, like a man set on a path he’d long ago accepted. “Alright, let''s get this mission done,” his voice rang out, steady and sure. Every word carved its own rhythm, an echo against the sharpness of his boots tapping the rooftop.
The rest of the team followed, their movements synchronized, but there was an undercurrent of something else—unsaid but undeniable. Something was coming. And the city below would soon become nothing more than a blur in the wake of their departure.
[Operation Nightfall Subplot arc begin]
[End of Chapter]