Chapter 4 REICH
REICH
Last night had been a constant battle without end. An excruciating war waged not only against the clock but against the brittle edges of my own sanity. Every passing hour had carved something away from me, left me hollowed out in ways I didn’t yet have the courage to examine.
The task was finished. Another name crossed off the list, another obligation fulfilled. But each completion came at a cost.
Always at a cost.
And the aftermath? It was patient. It waited until the work was done, then it came to collect.
I could feel it now—the toll it exacted on my mind, my body and even my soul.
The ache that settled in afterward, spread through me like a cold frostbite, further numbing me and disconnecting me from my reality.
Sleep remained as elusive as ever. No matter how heavy my eyelids grew or how deep the exhaustion ran through my core, I couldn’t find rest. The night clung to me; its cold hands pressed against my throat leaving me reaching for breath.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it.
What I’d done.
What I’d become.
When the first light of dawn began to seep in through the blinds of my bedroom window—thin streaks of pale gold against my neutral walls—I felt the pull.
A sharp, insistent urge, like an itch beneath the skin I couldn’t reach.
I needed space. Air. A moment alone before the weight of another day could settle on my shoulders, dragging me back under.
I slid out of bed, moving carefully and deliberately. As if I feared waking someone—or something—that still lingered in the walls of this house. Ghosts. Regrets.
Names I couldn’t remember. Names I could never forget.
The house was silent as I moved through it, feet bare against the cold wood floors. Every shadow was familiar. Every corner memorized. It was all mine, yet there were days it didn’t feel like a home. More like a monument. Or more like a mausoleum.
I pushed through the glass door and stepped outside, onto the deck that stretched wide before me.
Out here, the world was still.
The deck overlooked everything—the river winding far below, carving its restless path through the valley before merging with the lake in the distance.
On the other side of the water, my field of wildflowers had begun to bloom again, a riot of color splashed across the earth like an abstract artist’s reckless brushstroke. It looked peaceful.
But I knew better.
I always knew better.
Beneath that wild beauty was soil that had swallowed my secrets. My buried truths.
The earth had taken them in and, like the rest of this place, gone still. So, to an outsider, it was nothing more than a field—a picture-perfect stretch of untouched land.
But to me?
It was a graveyard.
A reminder.
I stood there for a long moment, unmoving, letting the cold bite of morning air settle against my skin. There was a pureness to it. Something crisp and clean that loosened the mess inside me.
Sometimes I let myself believe that this place held something sacred.
As if the land itself was capable of forgiving.
As if absolution was something more than a story, we told ourselves to sleep at night.
I wanted to believe it was possible. That redemption was waiting somewhere just over the ridge. That I could move forward.
But belief had never been my strong suit.
The house behind me stood like a fortress, perched on the edge of the mountain, almost invisible to anyone who didn’t already know where to look.
It sat nestled inside an old part of the nature reserve that few ever ventured into unless they had a reason.
It was a secret tucked in and hidden into the folds of the landscape.
Like my home. Like my life.
Seclusion was a comfort we’d learned young.
My brother, Castor, and I knew the value of shadows. We understood the danger of being seen.
Although Castor had a girlfriend now.
One who asked too many questions.
I had warned him—more than once. The risks of curiosity. The weight of knowing. The less people involved, and the cleaner things stayed. The fewer questions asked and the fewer answers we were forced to give.
I exhaled slowly, my breath a thin mist in the cold air, and watched the sunrise as it spread across the horizon. The sky was streaked with amber and gold, the kind of beauty that felt unearned.
And then I saw it.
A glint.
Sharp and Sudden.
Something caught the light, flashing just enough to pull my attention from the horizon and snap it to the far side of the river.
A striking figure stood there.
Crouched among the wildflowers.
Delicate fingers plucked one from the earth as if it was a sacred thing.
A woman.
I watched her carefully, instincts tightening.
She wasn’t from town.
I would have known.
In towns as small as this, everyone knew everyone.
But her?
She was a mystery.
An unknown.
Someone that didn’t quite belong.
Her bracelet caught the morning light again, the gleam pulling at my focus like a lure dragging a hook through dark water.
I should have looked away.
Should have walked back inside, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Something about her kept me tethered.
She was the ripple across still water.
Something I didn’t want to acknowledge but yet couldn’t ignore.
She moved slowly, with a kind of peace and gracefulness that I didn’t understand, and then I watched her as she laid back in the grass, letting her body sink into the earth.
She stared up at the sky and smiled softly.
Quiet. Serene.
And I stood there, watching, frozen by the weight of something stirring inside me.
I didn’t understand her peace or this illusion of it.
Before the thought could settle, Castor’s voice cut through the quiet.
“Hey, Reich…”
I didn’t turn.
I felt him step up beside me, his gaze tracking where mine was locked.
His presence was grounding.
His tone, less so.
“What do we have here?” he asked, casual but probing.
“Just another tourist,” I replied, flatly.
The words were more for me than for him.
Castor arched a brow, his suspicion bleeding through, “You need me to take care of it?”
The question hung there, heavy with implication.
It would be easy.
Quick. Clean.
And the temptation was there.
To hand it off and let him deal with this new found complication before it unraveled into something worse.
But not this time.
Not with her.
“No.” I shook my head, slow and measured as I responded. “She’s probably just lost.”
The words tasted wrong in my mouth, as I continued, “She’ll leave soon enough.”
Castor wasn’t convinced.
I felt the weight of his stare, the doubt in his gaze. “And you haven’t forgotten that a certain somebody is only thirty feet from her right foot?”
He didn’t have to say more.
I knew exactly what he meant.
I was already counting the distance in my head, already tracking the probabilities.
Last night’s work was buried there.
Close enough that if she wandered, she’d find something she shouldn’t.
“If she gets too close, I’ll handle it,” I said.
My voice was even.
Controlled.
I didn’t have the energy for an argument.
And Castor let it go, for now.
He exhaled, a slow breath.
Before I asked, “How’s our current assignment going?”
A pivot.
“Nothing yet,” he said. “He slipped through my radar, but I’m still looking.” He paused before continuing, “I’ll track him down after the music festival. You’re still going, right?”
The music festival.
I hadn’t gone last year.
Hadn’t left this house for anything that didn’t involve blood or orders.
Maybe that was why the restlessness sat so deep inside me.
“I’ll try. I don’t want to miss seeing Nerv perform live again.”
My next words slipped out, unguarded, a hint louder than I intended.
I winced as soon as they passed my lips, worried we were being too loud and signaling our presence.
“It was complete bullshit that I missed them last year.”
I shifted my attention back to the field.
But when I turned back my gaze—she was gone.
An unease settled deeper in my chest, cold and sharp.
I should have been relieved.
But instead, there was a question gnawing at me.
Heavy.
Unanswered.
Who was she?