The world outside had gone quiet again.
Too quiet.
A week had passed since the explosion at the convoy.
The warfront had shifted, and now the two spies moved like ghosts through enemy territory—hunted by both sides, bound by something no one could name.
They had been assigned one last mission. A retrieval. Simple, on paper.
But nothing about them had ever been simple.
The night wind carried the scent of rust and gunpowder as Ash crouched near the edge of an abandoned train yard. Through the fog, he could see the shipment crates lined up under searchlights. Somewhere inside those boxes was a hard drive with encrypted intel—proof of government experiments that could end the war or burn the world further.
Vernon joined him, crouching close, his breath visible in the cold air.
He still had a scar on his temple from the blast.
"You sure this is the right place?" he asked quietly.
Ash nodded, eyes on the guards. "Our source was clear. We move when the patrol passes."
Vernon gave a small nod, glancing sideways. "You've barely said a word since we left the safe house."
"Maybe I had nothing to say."
"You always have something to say," Vernon countered. "You just choose not to."
Ash turned, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat. "And you always talk to fill silence you can't handle."
That earned a small smirk from Vernon. "Maybe I like your silence. It makes me wonder what's going on in that head of yours."
Ash looked away. "Nothing you'd understand."
"Try me," Vernon said, his tone soft now, stripped of teasing.
But before Ash could answer, the patrol light swept across the yard, breaking the moment. They ducked low, shadows pressed tight to the ground, hearts beating in unison.
When the guards moved on, Ash whispered, "Now."
They slipped between the trains, moving like the wind. Silent. Deadly. Perfect.
Inside the cargo shed, they found the crates—numbers matching the intel.
Ash started unscrewing the panel of one while Vernon watched the door.
"Remind me again why two spies from opposite sides are risking their lives for the same file?" Vernon muttered.
Ash's hands paused for a second. "Because the file contains something neither side wants to admit."
"Which is?"
Ash looked up. His eyes were cold, but there was a flicker of truth beneath them.
"Proof that the war started as a lie."
Vernon exhaled slowly. "So we're not fighting for justice. We're fighting for someone's story."
Ash nodded. "And if that story ends, so does everything we've been killing for."
For a moment, Vernon just looked at him—this man who spoke in clipped sentences but carried the weight of entire worlds in his silences.
"You ever think about what comes after?" Vernon asked quietly.
"After what?"
"After the war. After the lies. After all of this."
Ash didn't answer immediately. He finished retrieving the hard drive, slipping it into his jacket. Then he said, almost under his breath,
"There is no after for people like us."
Something in Vernon's chest tightened. "Maybe there could be."
Ash turned toward him. "Don't start."
"I'm serious," Vernon said, stepping closer. "You act like we're already dead. Like you've accepted it."
Ash's voice dropped. "Because it's the truth."
"No," Vernon said firmly. "It's fear. You've built a cage out of fear and discipline, and you call it loyalty."
Ash's jaw tightened. "You don't know what I've done."
"Then tell me," Vernon challenged, his voice soft but sharp as glass.
Ash's eyes flickered, emotions buried deep clawing their way to the surface. "I killed the only person who trusted me once. And I didn't even hesitate."
Vernon's breath caught. "Was it an order?"
Ash gave a bitter half-smile. "Aren't they all?"
Silence fell between them, heavy as smoke, choking like underwater.
Vernon stepped closer until their faces were inches apart. "You're not the only one carrying ghosts, Ash. But maybe… maybe you don't have to carry them alone."
Ash's breath hitched. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't try to save me."
Vernon's eyes softened. "Who said I was trying to?"
The air between them felt alive, charged with something they couldn't name. Ash's hand twitched as if caught between reaching out and drawing his gun.
But before either could speak again, footsteps heard outside—guards, shouting orders.
"Move!" Ash hissed.
They darted through the back exit, bullets whizzing past as they sprinted into the fog.
Vernon shot a guard cleanly; Ash disarmed another, twisting his arm and slamming him into a crate.
A spotlight swept over them. Ash fired at the bulb, shattering it into sparks.
"Left!" Vernon called.
They ran toward the bridge, feet pounding the metal grating, alarms blaring behind them.
Ash leapt first, grabbing the rusted edge of the next building. Vernon followed, catching his wrist mid-jump. For a second, they hung suspended—Ash gripping his hand, pulling him up with a strength that came from more than survival.
When they landed, both panting, Ash looked at Vernon and said quietly,
"You shouldn't have stayed."
Vernon gave a small, breathless laugh. "You say that every time."
Ash looked at him, expression unreadable. "And you never listen."
Vernon smiled faintly. "Maybe I like proving you wrong."
By dawn, they reached a safehouse hidden beneath an old library. Dust floated in the shafts of morning light. Books lay scattered—forgotten words from a world that used to dream.
Ash placed the hard drive on the table. "We did it."
Vernon leaned against a shelf, watching him. "You sound almost disappointed."
Ash didn't look up. "Success doesn't mean safety. We're still on both hit lists."
"Then maybe we run," Vernon suggested.
Ash turned sharply. "Run where?"
"Anywhere. Somewhere that doesn't smell like blood."
Ash stared at him like he'd just suggested treason. "You'd betray your command?"
Vernon shrugged. "I already have, just by standing here with you."
That silenced Ash for a moment. Then he said quietly, "You'd die for that."
Vernon smiled. "Maybe. But for once, it would be my choice."
Ash looked at him for a long time. His walls, the ones built from years of orders and guilt, seemed to crack just a little.
He stepped closer, voice low. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I'm asking for you to stop pretending you don't feel it too."
The words hit harder than any bullet.
For a second, neither moved. The air trembled with everything unsaid—the near-death escapes, the looks that lasted too long.
Ash's hand brushed against Vernon's arm, just lightly.
Vernon didn't pull away.
But before the moment could become something more, the communicator on Ash's wrist buzzed.
He stiffened. "Command's calling."
Vernon stepped back, the fragile space between them again collapsing.
Ash answered. A distorted voice came through:
"Agent Ash. New directive. Eliminate your partner. He's compromised."
The line went dead.
Ash stood frozen.
Vernon's smile faded. "What did they say?"
Ash didn't answer. He just stared at the communicator, then at him.
The silence between them felt like the calm before a storm—thick, waiting to break.
Vernon took a small step forward. "Ash…?"
Ash's hand tightened around his gun.
The world seemed to stop.
Then he whispered, so quietly it almost wasn't there—
"I told you there's no after for people like us."
And the lights went out.