The Darkness I Carry

Chapter 43: Echoes of a Lost Soul

The days that followed felt like a dream Caleb couldn't wake up from. His thoughts, his actions they were all disconnected, a series of motions performed without meaning. The walls of Division Nine, once so imposing, had now become suffocating. He had long ago abandoned the pretense that he could change anything, that he could save Leah, or that he could save himself. They were both drowning in this system, and no amount of flailing could get them out.

But still, Caleb found himself looking for answers in the cracks of the facility. Small moments, fleeting glimpses, like the curve of Leah's cheek in the soft light, or the brief flicker of her gaze when she thought he wasn't looking. There was something there something that hadn't completely faded. It was so small, so fragile, that he wasn't even sure it existed.

But he couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop searching for her, hoping that somewhere beneath the ice, there was still a pulse.

Caleb was alone in the training room, the weight of his weapon heavy in his hand as he went through the motions. He wasn't training to kill anymore. There was no more thrill in the strike, no rush in the victory. It was all mechanical, just like the world around him. The constant thrum of gunfire in his veins had long since turned numb.

His body moved of its own accord, as if this was the only thing left that mattered survival in a world that had forgotten what it meant to live.

But then the door opened, and for a brief moment, his heart skipped. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. Leah's presence filled the space like a storm, shifting the air, displacing the weight of his thoughts.

She stood there, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes fixed on him. She didn't say anything. She never did. The silence between them had become a language all its own. A language full of things unsaid, of emotions too dangerous to name.

Caleb slowed his movements, lowering the weapon. For a second, he just stood there, his eyes meeting hers, trying to bridge the chasm between them with nothing more than a look. He felt the familiar ache in his chest the one that told him he should speak, that he should say something. But what was there to say?

Leah took a step forward, her boots clicking against the floor with every measured stride. The cold, calculated rhythm of her movements hadn't changed. She still carried herself like a weapon.

Caleb opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. The distance between them was too wide. He didn't even know if he wanted to close it anymore.

Leah stopped in front of him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his stance, his tense shoulders, the way his hands gripped the weapon as though it was the only thing holding him together.

"You're still here," she said flatly. "Still fighting a fight that's already over."

Her words pierced the silence, but they weren't as sharp as they once would have been. There was no anger in her tone just resignation.

Caleb dropped the weapon to the floor with a quiet clatter. He met her gaze, his eyes dark with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. "I don't know how to let go, Leah," he whispered.

"How do you walk away from something like this? From everything we've been through?"

Leah tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a humorless smile. "You don't. Not really. You just… stop caring."

Caleb recoiled at her words. He hadn't expected that. The idea of giving up of letting go of everything that had once mattered, everything that had once been real was like a physical blow. It was one thing to accept the mission, the system, the killing.

But to accept that it had all taken away everything he was, everything he'd ever cared about, was unbearable.

"I can't," he said hoarsely, as if the admission itself burned his throat. "I can't be like you. I can't just... stop."

Leah's expression softened, but only slightly. "I'm not like anyone, Caleb. I'm not even human anymore." Her voice dropped to a whisper, though her words were somehow louder than they had ever been. "And neither are you."

The finality in her voice hit Caleb harder than any bullet ever could. She wasn't just talking about the mission. She wasn't talking about Division Nine. She was talking about them about their lives, about the people they used to be.

"We're nothing but tools, Caleb. And tools don't get to feel. They don't get to make decisions," she continued, her voice steady.

"You knew that the day you chose to stay."

The words hung in the air like a curse, a reminder of every choice they had ever made, of the irreversible path they had walked together. He had stayed. And now, there was no going back.

Caleb closed his eyes, fighting the weight of her words. His mind reeled, memories flooding in memories of the girl he had once tried to protect, of the girl who had trusted him. He had failed her. They had failed each other.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Leah looked away, her gaze drifting to the floor as if the weight of his apology wasn't worth acknowledging. "Sorry doesn't change anything," she said quietly. "Sorry doesn't bring anyone back. Sorry doesn't erase the blood."

Her words were cold, harsh, but they weren't as venomous as they had been before.

There was a weariness to her now, a resignation that Caleb couldn't ignore. She wasn't trying to hurt him. She was simply stating a fact.

A long silence stretched between them.

Caleb stood there, rooted to the floor, unsure of what to do, unsure of who he even was anymore. Every time he looked at her, it was like staring into a mirror of his own brokenness. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to pull her back from the edge. But the woman standing before him was no longer the girl he had known. She was someone something else entirely.

And yet, something in her still called to him.

"Leah," he said, his voice low and trembling. "I don't want this. I don't want us to end like this."

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze once more. "Then what do you want, Caleb?" Her eyes bore into him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "What do you think we can do? We're both beyond saving. And you know it."

Caleb swallowed hard. He wanted to argue, to tell her that there had to be something some way out. But the truth was, he didn't have an answer. He didn't know what they could do. He didn't even know who he was anymore.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I don't know anymore."

The silence stretched on, both of them standing in the middle of the room, two broken souls trapped in a world that had no place for them. Caleb knew, deep down, that whatever thread of hope he had been clinging to was gone. He had tried. He had failed. And now, it was too late.

Leah finally turned and walked toward the door. Her footsteps were heavy, each one an echo in the hollow space between them.

Before she left, she paused, her hand resting on the doorframe. She didn't look back.

"Goodbye, Caleb," she said softly.

And with that, she was gone.