Wyll moves into position behind the bar, ready to spot me. I settle onto the bench, adjusting my grip. I start my set, lifting the bar up and down, four, five…
“For what it’s worth… I don’t think she’s a spy.” Wyll’s words stop me cold, the bar hovering above my chest mid-rep, jaw tightening. Every time I get tunnel vision, I forget just how sharp Wyll really is. He’s always been the one who could read me better than anyone else.
Untilher.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, continuing my set, already knowing that he picked up on what my father asked of me. Wyll knows him too well; he knows how he operates. We grew up side by side. He’s seen the General play hero, taking in the orphaned son of his fallen best friend. But the kindness ended there, no warmth, no attention. Nothing to envy, except maybe the silence. At least Wyll was invisible enough to avoid the worst of it.
“I feel it too,” he says quietly.
Those words ignite something in me. I re-rack the weight and spring up from the bench, anger radiating from my pores.
How dare he say that? As if he couldunderstand anounceof what it feels like.
Wyll holds up his hands, backing off from one step. “Relax, man. I’m not talking about yourcreepyobsession. I mean the déjà vu. That weird feeling you told me about. I called her Lyna,” Wyll continues, voice lowered now, the sarcasm gone. “No idea why. It just came out. Like my instincts knew her name before my brain did. And the way she looked at me… She felt it too, as if we’ve been there before.”
My breath catches, that name.
“Wait… wasn’t that the name of your sister’s best friend? Luna—Lyna?” Wyll freezes, eyes widening.
“Shit. I think you’re right.” His voice drops, heavy with disbelief. “How the hell did I forget that?” His brows are in a deep furrow. I see it when it hits him, the weight of something lost and suddenly found.
We all say we want to forget the painful things, but once they’re gone, we start to wonder if remembering would hurt less. Somehow, they both burn just the same, memory and absence.
“It’s alright, man,” I say after a pause. “I forgot too. At least until she showed up.”
Wyll's voice is low, cautious. “What do you think it means?”
I shake my head slowly. “The only thing I know for sure is that someone tampered with her memories, our memories. This kind of overlap? It’s not just a coincidence.”
He hesitates, then asks the question neither of us wants to voice. “You think Avilyna might not be Rey’s daughter?”
My jaw tightens.
The weight of that possibility sinks in.
“If that’s true,” I say carefully, “we’ve got to be smart about how we handle it.”
If she’s not Rey’s daughter, then the chance of her being the enemy…
Wyll nods. “Yeah…”
My voice hardens.“We have to be smart not to draw the wrong kind of attention. I don’t want her to be in danger.” At that, my dumbass of a best friend looks at me, fangs on full show. “Now wipe that stupid grin off your face, you moron.” I bite off.
Wyll shakes his head, displaying a bigger smile. “Alright then. So, what’s the plan?”
I lay back on the bench and readjust my grip to the bar, getting ready for another set. “We’ll wait. I think we’ll get answers once she awakens.”
An hour later,we’re clean, dressed, and ready for patrol. We hit the briefing room, and Isolde’s waiting with our next mission.
“Corporal Brackwell, your team’s assigned to the portal activity at Mundane World, gate 144.”
“Understood, Sergeant.” I take the file from her.
She leans in, voice low, “Keep an eye on Caleb, will you?”
“Ma’am, with all due respect, he’s a grown man. Don’t need babysitting.” Isolde is momentarily speechless.
Normally, I keep my mouth shut or pick my words carefully. But not when it concerns my guys, my family. The ones I chose, well, technically, the one Kvirr chose for us. Three misfits who somehow make one hell of a team, the Bloodhowl Unit. And I’ll be damned if I don’t protect them, because I know exactly how it feels to fail your family. For some, Sergeant Sinclair is nice, but when it comes to being a mom, let’s just say that nice enough doesn’t cut it, so on that, I leave.
