The Darkness I Carry

Chapter 42: Fractured Souls

The days blurred into each other, a suffocating gray haze that Caleb couldn't escape. Time felt irrelevant here, in the cold, sterile walls of the facility. Every mission, every brief, every empty hallway was a reminder of what he had become, or rather, what he had allowed himself to become.

There was no way back. No way to undo the things that had already been set in motion.

Caleb tried to ignore the gnawing ache inside him. The pain that came when he closed his eyes and saw Leah's face not the girl she had been, but the girl she was now.

The girl who had been broken by this system, molded into something cold and unfeeling. She wasn't just lost to him anymore. She was lost to herself.

But every time he saw her, every time he caught that flicker of something human in her eyes, he felt the stirrings of hope. And that hope, weak as it was, kept him moving forward. It kept him tethered to something, even if it was just the remnants of a memory that might never return.

The weight of the assignment had begun to sink in. Caleb couldn't escape the truth: they were just cogs in a machine, replacing one another when the gears broke. The more they completed, the more the cycle seemed to repeat each mission a brick in the wall that was slowly closing in on them. And yet, it wasn't the killing that bothered him. It wasn't the bloodshed, or the death. It was Leah. Every time she pulled the trigger, every time she wiped another life off the map, something inside Caleb died a little bit more.

He had always thought that if he stayed close enough, if he kept fighting, he could save her. But every mission, every cold exchange between them, told him that he was wrong. Leah wasn't just hardened by this world. She was becoming it.

Caleb was in the briefing room again, his eyes trained on the target projected onto the screen. But his mind was somewhere else entirely far away from the mission, from the targets, from the cold calculations of Division Nine.

The man at the head of the table was speaking, listing off the usual details: name, location, threat level. But Caleb couldn't focus. His eyes kept drifting to the door, as though expecting to see Leah standing there, looking at him with those cold, empty eyes. It was a constant tug-of-war between wanting to protect her and knowing that there was nothing left to save.

"Caleb," the voice of the man at the table snapped him back to reality. "You'll be working with Leah on this one. Same parameters. Same execution."

Caleb barely nodded, his throat tight, his mind far from the task at hand. He didn't want to be around her. Not like this. Not when she was so distant, so unreachable. It was easier to pretend that they had a mission, that they had nothing left to discuss. Because every time he looked at her, the raw truth of their situation became too unbearable to confront.

The man at the table continued, but Caleb's attention wavered again. He could feel the familiar ache in his chest, the pull to find her, to try again. But what was the point? She had made it clear. She had already walked away.

Later, they were together, standing in the cold, clinical hallway once again, preparing for their next operation. The tension between them was palpable. It always was. But now, it felt different like there was a wall between them, a chasm so deep that no words, no actions could bridge the gap.

Leah didn't look at him. She didn't speak. Her eyes were focused on the mission on the target her face a mask of indifference. And Caleb? He couldn't stop staring at her, as if waiting for some sign, some hint of the girl he used to know.

They were assigned to eliminate a high-ranking government official, someone whose name meant nothing to Caleb, whose death would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. But as always, the mission was clear: no questions, no hesitation.

Leah moved with practiced efficiency, her every step measured, her every action exact. She had become a ghost in this place, drifting between the walls, between the missions, without ever truly being there. And Caleb… he was caught between wanting to reach out to her and knowing, deep down, that it was pointless.

When they reached the target's location, the usual plan unfolded. Caleb stayed back, watching her as she approached the target, her movements fluid and precise. He saw it again something almost human in her expression, a flicker of something before she wiped it away. But it wasn't enough. It never was.

The target was eliminated in seconds. The usual silence followed. The mission was a success. Another name wiped off the map.

But Caleb didn't feel the usual rush of completion. Instead, he felt a growing emptiness, a hollow space where his heart used to be.

Later, in their quarters, the silence between them was suffocating. They had never been good at talking, especially not after everything that had happened. But tonight, it was worse. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with all the things they both knew but refused to say.

Caleb leaned against the wall, staring at the floor, his mind racing. The weight of their shared history, of all the things they had endured together, pressed down on him like a vice.

Leah stood by the window, her back to him, her gaze lost in the darkness beyond the glass. She hadn't spoken a word since the mission. She hadn't even looked at him.

Finally, Caleb broke the silence. "Leah…"

She didn't respond. Not immediately. But when she spoke, her voice was as cold and distant as ever.

"What's left to say, Caleb?" she asked, her words cutting through the room like a blade. "We've said it all. You tried to save me. I let you. But there's nothing left to save."

Her words struck him harder than anything she had said before. He wanted to scream, to plead with her, but he couldn't. He was too tired. Too broken. And so was she.

"I don't want to lose you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I never wanted this for you."

Leah turned slightly, her eyes meeting his for the first time in days. There was no anger in them. No hate. Just a deep, aching emptiness.

"You already have," she said softly. "And I don't even know who I am anymore."

The words hung in the air like a suffocating fog, neither of them able to take them back, neither of them able to undo the truth. There was no easy way out. There was no redemption for them anymore.

And in that moment, Caleb realized that Leah had already let go. And maybe, just maybe, he had too.