Chapter 18

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 f**king 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 f**king 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 f**king 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 f**king 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 f**king joke. Full of injustice and unfairness and every f**ked 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 f**king 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 f**king 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 f**king pu**y, 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.