“We got through—” Dean started, but his voice faltered.
He didn’t have to finish.
Adrian knew what he was thinking.
He was thinking about all of it. The years. The training. The diving into depths no one else had dared to reach. The wars that had reshaped them into something neither of them fully recognized. The missions that had turned them into ghosts of themselves. The nights spent standing watch over each other’s backs, both knowing that death had brushed too close too many times.
The blood.
So much blood.
The fallen friends they have mourned and grieved together.
It was the strength and sacredness of their friendship—founded on sacrifice and deeper than anything Adrian had ever experienced. They had been bound by things that no one else could understand, by the silent oaths spoken in gunfire and sea spray and the metallic taste of adrenaline on their tongues. By the dark nights when Adrian cried so loud that Dean came into the room and held him.
And Adrian knew, without question, without hesitation—Dean would die for him.
He almosthad.
And Adrian would have done the same.
“A lot,” Adrian finally said, his voice quiet but steady, a small, painful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Dean swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t survive all this shit just to die from cancer…”
Adrian had no answer.
Because hecouldn’tsay everything would be okay.
Because they both knew the truth.
Dean clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly before nodding once. “I’ll come visit you in a few months. Tom and I.”
Adrian nodded. “Keep an eye on Alon, okay? He’s in our unit now. Make sure he’s handling it. It should be my job, but… I don’t know if I’ll be able to. And he might need some help.”
Dean didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
And then Adrian pulled him into a hug.
Dean clung to him fiercely, as if striving to etch this fleeting moment into eternity, yearning to rewind time itself. He held his best friend—his brother, his everything—so tightly, as though anchoring him against an impending departure. The heart-wrenching reality hit: he was about to board a plane, facing the uncertainty of whether he would return.
Then, all too rapidly, it slipped away. Dean discreetly brushed away his tears, trying to catch his breath.
Logan grabbed his suitcase. Adrian grabbed his.
They turned to go.
And then—
“Hey, Princess.”
Adrian and Logan both turned.
Dean stood there, his shoulders squared, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. But his eyes—his eyes were red, and when the tears finally slipped free, he didn’t wipe them away.
“Remember what I told you,” Dean said, his voice cracking, raw. “I wasn’t kidding.”
Logan met his gaze, something unreadable flashing between them.
