Chapter 23 #2
The weight of it settled between us. My sister, brilliant, stubborn, relentless, refusing to give up. Fighting to find me while I was locked in conditioning protocols, my mind wiped clean, killing for the man who’d stolen my life.
“She never gave up.”
“No. She didn’t. She’s probably still searching.”
We sat in silence for a moment. The afternoon light shifting across frost-covered windows. Outside, the empty school grounds stretched white and still.
Clare’s thumb made slow circles on the back of my wrist, grounding me into the present.
“What else do you remember?”
The question I’d been dreading.
Looked at our joined palms. At the scars on my knuckles. The calluses that came from years of training. First as a soldier, then as something else entirely.
“Everything.”
Clare waited. Patient.
“I was Special Forces. Master Sergeant Xavier Hale. Green Beret. Served eight years. Honorable discharge.”
Warmth flickered in my ribs despite everything that came after. I’d been a good soldier. Believed in what I was doing. The brotherhood, the mission, the honor of serving something bigger than myself.
“They chose me because of that. The training. The discipline. The ability to follow orders without question.” Bitterness crept in.
“Perfect candidate for reconditioning. It was a test for the Quinta generation and the chip, having good men, soldiers with actual training turned into assassins, instead of talented criminals being brainwashed.”
“The arrest was fabricated.” Not a question. She’d already figured it out.
“Armed robbery. Aggravated assault. Evidence manufactured so clean even my lawyer told me to take the plea deal.” Stared at the wall, seeing the interrogation room.
The cold fluorescent lights. The detective who wouldn’t meet my gaze while he read charges I hadn’t committed.
“I knew it was a trap. Fought it. Nobody believed me.”
My jaw clenched.
“They took me within two months. Transferred to a facility that didn’t exist on any official record. Started conditioning immediately.”
Clare’s grip tightened on mine. Anchoring me to the present while I recounted the past.
“I don’t remember much of that period. Strapped to chairs. Electrodes. Chemicals burning through my veins. Daily injections. Electroshock when I resisted.”
Dropped my tone to barely above a whisper.
“You are Blackout. You have no past.”
Clare’s breath hitched. But she didn’t let go.
“I tried to fight it.” The admission tasted like failure. “But the pain... the chemicals... they broke me. Piece by piece. Until there was nothing left but obedience.”
Forced myself to look at her. To see her reaction.
She was crying. Silent tears streaming down her cheeks. But she held my stare. Didn’t look away.
“I killed so many people for them, Clare.”
The statement landed between us like stones dropped in still water.
Clare didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“I don’t remember all their names. But I remember the kills. Every single one. Following orders without question. Target neutralized. No witnesses. Efficient. Professional. Emotionless.”
My palms wanted to shake. The tremor that had plagued me for weeks wasn’t there anymore, but the urge to tremble, to physically manifest the horror crawling under my skin, was overwhelming.
“I was good at it.” The self-loathing in my words was sharp. “That’s what makes it worse. I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just executed orders like the perfect weapon Dresner built me to be.”
“Not in war. Not for my country. For Dresner. For Oblivion. For a man who stole my identity and turned me into a monster.”
“You’re not a monster.”
“Fifty-five people would disagree. If they could.”
“They can’t. Because someone stole your choice.” She leaned forward, forcing me to meet her stare. “You didn’t choose this, Xavier. They broke you. Rebuilt you. Used you.”
“My palms. My skills. My training. Their deaths.”
“Their choice to break you. Their choice to condition you. Their choice to use you as a weapon. Not yours.”
Wanted to believe her. Wanted to accept that absolution.
“Does it matter? The dead don’t care who made the choice. They’re still dead.”
Clare didn’t have an answer for that. There wasn’t one.
We sat in silence. Her palm still holding mine. Both of us processing truths too big to fit comfortably in the space between us.
“Who am I now?”
Clare searched my features. “What do you mean?”
“Who I was. Soldier, brother, protector. Who they made me. Assassin, weapon, killer, Blackout.” Gestured vaguely at myself, at the body that remembered how to kill but was trying to learn how to be human again. “Who I am now... I don’t know. Xavier Hale. But which version?”
“The one sitting here. The one who fought the conditioning. Who’s choosing what to do next instead of following orders.”
“What if I can’t separate them? The soldier and the killer? What if they’re the same person and I just didn’t want to see it?”
“Then you don’t separate them.” Clare shifted closer, her free palm coming up to cup my jaw. “You accept both. Soldier who believed in something. Weapon who was used. Man who’s choosing what comes next. All of it. All of you.”
Stared at her. At the certainty in her golden-brown stare. At the woman who’d seen me at my worst, broken, mute, dying, and hadn’t walked away.
“I choose you.” The words came clear despite my damaged throat. Certain despite the chaos in my head.
Clare’s breath caught. “Xavier...”
“I love you, Clare.” Cupped her jaw with both palms, making sure she heard every word. “Not because you saved me. Not because of amnesia or conditioning or anything else.”
Tears welled. She tried to speak. Couldn’t.
“You saw me at my worst. Broken. Mute. Dying. You could have walked away. You didn’t. You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself.”
“I love you too.” Her words cracked. “God, Xavier. I love you too.”
Kissed her. Gentle. Desperate. Sealing the promise with touch because words had failed us both too many times.
When we pulled apart, both our breathing was uneven. Clare’s forehead rested against mine.
“You need to rest. You’ve been through hell.”
“I’m okay. Better than I’d been in weeks.”
Clare stood reluctantly. “I should tell Hellhound and Havoc you’re awake. They’ve been worried. I’ll get you more water too.”
Caught her wrist before she could step away. “Five minutes.”
She smiled. Small. Real. “Okay. Five minutes.”
Watched her walk to the door. Light on her feet despite the exhaustion shadowing her features. Relieved. Happy.
For the first time I saw hope in the way she moved.
She grabbed the empty water bottle from me, turned back to give me one more smile, then slipped into the hallway.
The door closed softly behind her.
Lay back against the pillows. Exhausted but peaceful.
The recollections were still there. All of them. Heavy. Real.
But Clare knew now. All of it. And she’d looked at me like I mattered anyway.
Like I was worth loving despite the ghosts.
Maybe Hellhound was right. Maybe I could accept all of it, soldier, weapon, man, and choose what came next.
Maybe I could build something new from the wreckage.
Closed my lids. For a moment. To rest.
The weight on my ribs felt lighter than it had in months.
A future with Clare.
A future where I found Maeve. Explained everything. Tried to rebuild what Oblivion had destroyed.
A future where I was more than the sum of Dresner’s programming.
A few more minutes of rest. Then I’d get up. Face Hellhound and Havoc. Start planning whatever came next.
My breathing evened out. The afternoon light shifted across the frost-covered windows, throwing long shadows across the floor.
Peace. Quiet. Safety.
Then I heard it.
A muffled thud from the hallway.
Snapped awake.
Sat up too fast. The room spun briefly before stabilizing.
“Clare?”
No answer.
Silence. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that came after something ended.
Was moving before I fully processed the wrongness.
Out of bed. Across the room. Yanked the door open.
The hallway was empty. Dark except for the single bare bulb overhead.
Then I saw it.
Clare’s water bottle. Dropped. Rolling slowly across the wooden floorboards toward me.
She wouldn’t drop that. Not unless...
Fresh drag marks on the floor. Leading toward the back stairs.
No blood. No struggle sounds. Professional. Fast.
My heart stopped.
“Clare!” Louder this time. The rasp in my damaged throat sharpening into something desperate.
Still no answer.
Sprinted down the hallway. Bare feet slapping against cold wood. The drag marks ended at the door to the service stairs, the ones that led directly to the west exit.
Slammed through the door.
The stairwell was empty. Cold air rushed up from below.
While I was resting in bed, thinking we were safe.
“Hellhound!” Couldn’t control the raw fury. “HELLHOUND!”
Footsteps pounded up the main stairs. Hellhound appeared at the end of the hallway, weapon already drawn.
“What’s wrong?”
Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form the words.
Pointed at the water bottle. At the drag marks. At the open door to the service stairs.
Hellhound’s expression went cold. Tactical. He crossed to the stairwell in three long strides, scanning the shadows below.
“She’s gone. Someone took her.”