North POV

Pain came first.

A dull, throbbing ache blooming in the back of my skull, followed by the weight of my limbs refusing to obey.

I groaned. The air tasted wrong—chemical, stale, tinged with rust. My mouth was dry. My throat raw.

Then I tried to move.

Clink.

Metal.

My eyes shot open.

The room was dim, concrete walls stained with damp and time. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting shadows like claws across the ceiling. My wrists—chained to the headboard of a bed bolted to the floor. Ankles shackled too. I tugged instinctively. Nothing gave.

I was restrained.

Not just restrained—secured like a prisoner.

Panic flared, sharp and animal. My training kicked in. Breathing slowed. Heart rate controlled.

Assess. Analyze. Survive.

But then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Unhurried. Familiar.

My heart froze mid-beat.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Not possible.

Not—

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Johan.

Whole. Breathing.

Standing in the doorway like a ghost that had clawed its way back from the underworld.

My blood ran cold.

No scar. No wound. No blood-soaked shirt. Just him, in black, towering, calm—like he always had been before everything went to hell.

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

He didn’t vanish.

I stared at him like the ground under me had cracked open.

“You’re…” My voice rasped out. “You’re dead. I killed you.”

Johan’s eyes didn’t waver. “Apparently not well enough.”

I recoiled instinctively, the chains rattling as I backed into the headboard, skin cold and clammy.

“I saw you fall,” I whispered. “I saw your body. There was blood. There was nothing left. I—”

“You shot me in the heart,” he said, stepping inside and letting the door fall shut behind him with a final thud. “Point-blank. Efficient. Ruthless. The golden boy of the State.”

He was close now. I could see the tension in his jaw. Controlled rage. Or maybe something deeper.

Something older.

“Then I buried you,” I said, breath catching. “I stood over your grave. I watched them lower your body—”

“It wasn’t mine.”

That stopped me cold.

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I knew someone was coming for me,” Johan said softly, almost like a confession. “Didn’t know it would be you. But I had contingencies. Doubles. DNA-swapped corpses. Burn patterns. Enough to fool even the most advanced scans.”

I shook my head. “No. No, this isn’t real. I shot you. I watched you fall. I did my job. I—”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes unreadable. “You did exactly what they wanted.”

I stared.

The walls tilted.

“You… let me kill you.”

He didn’t deny it.

The floor seemed to drop out from under me.

I’d pulled the trigger. Felt the recoil. Watched the light go out in his eyes.

But they weren’t his.

And now—now he stood there like time had rewound just for him.

“I’ve had a long year to think, North,” Johan said. “A long time to plan. And I’ve come to a very clear conclusion.”

I didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

“You betrayed me,” he said quietly. “And now?”

He tilted his head.

“I want to know why.”

My breath shuddered in my chest.

He stepped closer, and the air in the room thickened—like gravity tilted toward him. I wasn’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline, or the undeniable fact that I was no longer in control.

He stared down at me, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable. But the fire behind his eyes wasn’t rage. Not exactly.

It was something worse.

Something colder.

Something personal.

“You always were good at lying,” Johan said, voice low, almost reverent. “Every word, every glance, every touch—perfect. Even your silences were calculated, weren’t they?”

I didn’t reply.

He smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“But I see it now. I see it all clearly.”

He began to pace at the foot of the bed, like a predator circling its prey—his boots echoing off the walls with every step.

“No more pretense. No more sweet little mornings. No more pretending to care just enough to get close to me.” He stopped. Looked at me. “Isn’t it better this way?”

My fingers tightened against the restraints.

“Now we both know what we are.”

“Let me go,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, but I do.” His tone sharpened. “I’ve waited for this. The truth between us, finally stripped bare. The lies burned away. And all that’s left...”

He dragged the chair closer to the bed and sat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Eyes locked with mine.

“All that’s left is you,” he said, voice dropping. “And me.”

He let the silence stretch. Let the weight of it settle in the air between us like ash.

“I loved you, North.”

The words were too calm. Too quiet. They didn’t sound like a confession—they sounded like a weapon.

“I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anything. And you used that. You walked into my life, into my home, into my mind—knowing what you were going to do.”

He stood again, sudden and sharp, rage cracking through his voice.

“You looked me in the eye while planning to end me.”

I flinched as he slammed his palm against the wall beside the bed, hard enough to make the chains rattle.

“You think I didn’t feel it?” he hissed. “The change in your kiss. The silence behind your smile. I didn’t want to believe it. I told myself I was being paranoid. I trusted you.”

He laughed—a bitter sound, empty of joy.

“And when you pulled that trigger?” He leaned in, so close I could see the faint scar just under his jaw—fresh. Real. “I still loved you.”

I swallowed, throat tight. “You were dangerous.”

“I was yours,” he growled.

“You were killing people. I had to protect the country.”

Johan tilted his head, studying me like I was something under glass.

“Still playing soldier,” he said, voice flat. “Still hiding behind your precious mission. But tell me, North—when you held me at gunpoint, when you looked me in the eyes as I begged for the truth… did you feel nothing?”

“I did what I had to do,” I said, jaw clenched.

His smile returned—but it was a different kind now. Hollow. A mask over something unraveling.

“That’s the difference between us,” he said softly. “I could never have done that to you. Not even with a gun to my head.”

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, as if trying to shake off the madness clawing at him from the inside.

“But now… it’s easier, isn’t it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“No more pretending. No more messy feelings. Just you, in my hands. No uniforms. No lies. No country between us.”

He stepped toward me again and reached out, his hand brushing lightly against my face—fingers ghosting over my jaw. I flinched, but he didn’t stop.

“I should hate you,” he whispered. “I should rip you apart for what you did.”

His fingers slid to my throat. Not choking—just feeling my pulse.

“But I won’t.”

His gaze darkened.

“Because you’re still mine.”

I met his eyes, fury burning low behind mine. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But I’m also alive. And you’re here. And for the first time, we don’t have to lie.”

He pulled back, pacing once more.

“You see, I thought losing you would kill me. I thought betrayal was the worst pain I could feel.”

He turned slowly.

“But I was wrong. Hope is worse.”

That twisted grin returned.

“And now you get to feel it too.”

Then he walked to the door.

“I’ll give you some rest. You’ll need it. I’ve got a lot planned for us.”

He paused before stepping out.

“Oh,” he added over his shoulder. “And don’t bother screaming. No one’s coming.”

The door shut behind him.

Click.

Lock engaged.

And I was alone again—in the dark—with the ghost I had created.

But ghosts don’t stay ghosts forever.

Not when they want revenge.

Not when they still think they love you.