Chapter 9
(Lisa's POV)
The city felt like a living, breathing entity outside the car window — fast, chaotic, full of ambition. I sat in the back of the cab, one leg crossed over the other, backpack clutched tightly in my lap, watching New York blur past. There was a strange steadiness in the noise, the horns, the sirens — like the rhythm of a place that didn't stop to let anyone grieve.
Maybe that was what I needed.
I visited three military academies by noon. The first one was too cold, too mechanical — like a place built for punishment rather than purpose. The second seemed promising, but something about it felt more like a performance than a program. But the third — tucked between a line of old brownstones and hidden behind a courtyard of trees — had a quiet strength. The kind you didn't have to announce.
I walked through the gate, breathing in the scent of chalk and earth, and watched as a few cadets moved through drills with sharp precision. Their faces were focused, shoulders straight. There was something reassuring about their discipline — something I hadn't felt in a long time: control.
After a short consultation, I signed up for a preliminary program — part-time to start, but the structure was real, the physical requirements demanding. They didn't promise peace. They promised strength. That was enough for me.
As I exited, I stood outside the academy gates for a long moment, the late afternoon sun warming my face as I closed my eyes and whispered softly, "I'm doing this, Dad. For me. For you."
---
(Ethen's POV)
The flight was booked under a different name. Everything from the pickup car to the luggage tags was untraceable, clean. I didn't like running things this close to the chest, but trust was a luxury I couldn't afford anymore — not in this life, not with the people I was dealing with.
By the time I stepped onto the jet, Ryan was already seated, files in hand, his jaw clenched in that way he did when he sensed the stakes were high. I dropped into the seat across from him and grabbed the folder he offered without a word.
Inside were names, photos, financial trails — the kind of details that could ruin a man if they fell into the wrong hands. We were headed to Florence to renegotiate terms with an old ally turned unpredictable. That was the problem with old deals — eventually, one side starts to believe they're owed more than what was agreed upon.
I leaned back, staring at the clouds outside the window. My thoughts drifted — unintentionally, irritatingly — to Lisa. To the way she smiled without meaning to. The way she looked at Meena like home still existed somewhere in this world.
Keeping her safe wasn't part of the plan. Neither was feeling anything.
But now that she was under the same roof, I couldn't ignore the risk. Not when the wrong person could trace her to me. Not when I'd already lost too much.
She wasn't supposed to matter.
And yet, somewhere in the hollow space between duty and disaster, she had started to.
---
(Jacob's POV)
I sat alone on the bench beneath the sycamore tree, the one that faced the old chapel I used to visit with Lisa's father — back when I was still allowed in their lives, back when I still deserved to be. The late afternoon breeze carried the faintest scent of spring, earthy and alive, but it only reminded me of everything that had withered in my absence.
The screen of my phone stared back at me, empty, expectant.
I started typing a message to her anyway.
> Lisa, I know I have no right, but I hope you're okay. I saw something today that reminded me of you. You're not forgotten. Not even for a second.
My fingers hovered over the send button.
But I didn't press it.
I let out a slow, quiet sigh, thumb trembling slightly as I moved the message to drafts and locked the phone screen.
"She's better off not hearing from you," I muttered under my breath. "For now."
Just one more year. That was the plan.
One more year of playing the obedient son, one more year of swallowing every damn order my mother threw at me, every arranged event, every forced smile, every obligation... and then, when it was all done — when I could finally breathe again — I'd come home.
I'd find Lisa.
And I'd fix what I destroyed.
Even if she hated me for it, I'd still come back.
Because deep down, beneath the mess and the silence, I had never stopped believing that she was mine — not in the possessive way, not in the broken, desperate way. But in the way you know someone is your beginning and end.
And maybe, just maybe, I could still be hers.