The little woman's delicate fingers tickled Ryker's skin over his dark beard. A tiny spark of warmth that, together with the small, gentle gestures, poured over him like a balm. It was a tiny touch ... and yet a bright light for him, softening the shadows and the fog that had fallen over him unprepared.

He felt like a ship lost in the vast sea, seeing the glow of the saving lighthouse. Although the thick fog and darkness had not yet lifted and still hung over him, he felt a deep gratitude that could not be put into words.

What had happened?

The question caught him as unawares as the seizure while his eyes still lingered in hers. The wooden stick still in his mouth, his jaw suddenly stopped grinding. The sweet taste that had soothed his senses was lost on his tongue alone while his heartbeat quickened involuntarily.

Flickering images reappeared in his mind. Scenes of bloodied hands on a dusty floor. Mixed with dirt and so much pain...

The tension returned to his body as if Eve had suddenly turned into one of his countless nightmares. His shoulders shook as he forced himself to take a shuddering breath.

Slowly, his eyelids lowered, almost in sync with his head, and hesitantly, he broke away from the gentle touch lest she see the fog of a dark past filling his thoughts again.

"Would you like some?" he offered instead in a rough voice and, without looking up, handed her some of the sweet caramel. He needed time. It wasn't easy for him to take her up on her offer, which he sensed she only meant well.

Eve probably sensed that she was treading on thin ice. Because she gave him the time he needed and simply kept quiet. Patient with him... and he thanked her for that, even if he couldn't express it.

The silence descended over the room and weighed heavily on their shoulders.

He hadn't shared these... events with anyone. The only ones who knew about it were his old comrades who had been there. Among them was Dylan, whom he had always trusted beyond measure, like most of his comrades in arms from the war. But now ... so much of his previously rock-solid world had crumbled in the last few weeks that he no longer knew how stable this wall between him and the outside world could still be.

No matter how close they had been, he hadn't met any of his old comrades in recent years. The reason for this was so simple and simultaneously so profound that he would never have said it openly: He feared their looks.

He hated the way they had treated him since the incident. He had never wanted their concern or pity. On the contrary, he hated the way everything had changed and couldn't stand it when they talked about missions, and he ... had to listen to it. Or worse, when they realized this fact, their faces contorted with pity before they magnanimously moved on to another topic.

It was confusing and nonsensical, but he could neither bear to hear these things nor be spared them out of pity. It made him angry and ... hurt him at the same time. That was another reason he was caught off guard when Dylan, of all people, asked him for help, and these terrible shadows were cast over the noble image he had had of his comrade until now.

This past was a memory for him. One that he had locked away in a box deep inside himself. He needed that to start again. A hard cut and a fresh start, far away from everything.

Alone ...

But he was no longer alone. At least not anymore. Eve had reached out and touched something inside him. The thick wall around him seemed to crumble under her touch, frightening him as much as he ... enjoyed it. She didn't deserve him keeping her at such a distance. He was lying to Eve and secretly spying on her without her knowing, even though she and Riona were so good to him. Ryker was almost desperate for a little more... Truth between them.

"I wasn't always ... what I am now," he finally said after what felt like an eternity. Ray kept his eyes fixed on the bright cup in his hands. His whole body was tense, right down to his fingertips, clenched so tightly around the porcelain that his knuckles turned pale. He clung to the porcelain like a lifeline.

And again, Eve came towards him.

She touched his shoulder gently. The warmth seemed to seep through the fabric onto his skin. Her fingers slowly stroked down his arm to soothe him. His gaze followed her fingers like a magnet, and he watched spellbound as her hand touched his. The more petite thumb carefully stroked the back of his hand, and his tense muscles relaxed a little under this tender gesture without him noticing.

"I was a soldier a few years ago," he continued, continuing the thread. He couldn't suppress a soft snort. The likelihood that she had already found out was far too high. Eve was intelligent, and Dylan was Seal himself, after all. And his reaction to the sound spoke volumes.

Ray turned the cup, slid the handle onto his left, and lifted it to sip the tea because his throat suddenly felt dry. His right hand remained on his knee, wrapped around hers as if to support him.

"Actually, it wasn't a bad time at all," he murmured softly, feeling Eve's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly. Next to him, he heard her trying in vain to breathe quietly. It was strange. He wanted to open up to her, but at the same time, he felt the urge to protect her and not harm her.

Instinctively, he pulled his arm back a little, only to take her hand. Ray wasn't sure what made him do it, but it felt right and worked. Her fingers loosened again, fitting far too well into his larger ones. There they sat, their hands intertwined ... and it felt good.

"At least until my last mission," he continued quietly.

>>WHAMM!<< it thundered through his head as a flash of memory pushed through the fog. He squinted his eyes and thought he could feel the heat on his skin again. The roaring in his ears grew louder again, mingling with the whistle of gunfire, crashing explosions, and pain-filled screams echoing through the narrow alleyways.

"Ray," the honey-smooth voice beside him cut like a sharp knife through the black veil of memory. "Take it easy ... Everything is fine. Breathe..."

Gasping, Ray took a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He needed a moment to collect himself. Inhaling deeply, he forced himself to keep his eyes open, even though he knew it didn't matter. That was the cruel thing: there was no escape from these images. In the beginning, they haunted him always and everywhere. On the street, in the elevator, even in his apartment. A movie triggered these seizures, and he felt like he was going crazy. Only medication helped him to get a grip on it slowly.

Eve, sitting next to him, seemed to notice his struggle. She carefully took her hand out of his and placed it on his neck. She began to massage the tense muscles with just the right amount of pressure. For a brief but bitter second, he wondered if she did the same for Dylan when he wasn't feeling well. But his thoughts continued to circle. As restless as a startled, injured animal.

"It's no use," he moaned quietly and shook his head before rising somewhat jerkily from the mattress and walking a few steps stiffly across the room to give his inner ranting an outlet. Tensely, he clenched his hands into fists, stretched his fingers again, and repeated the gesture.

"Ray?"

Turning his head, he saw that Eve had also stood up. She had raised her hand slightly, but he noticed a slight tremor in her fingers. She looked a little paler around the nose than before, and Ray thought he saw a spark of fear in her eyes before his gaze fell on her hand.

'Did that idiot push you away?' he asked himself. But then he banished Dylan from his thoughts and this room. There was no room for him here and now. She was here with HIM. And he didn't even want to share this moment with Eve with Dylan in his thoughts.

"I..." Ray started and ran his hands through his hair from the temples down—a gesture of desperation.

He wanted to talk to her.

He really wanted to.

He didn't know how to say it or put it into words. As soon as he tried, a noose seemed to tighten around his neck, preventing him from doing so like an invisible blockade. Everything inside him resisted. To say it and face that day again. He couldn't bear it again. At the same time, he couldn't slap away the hand that had reached out to him after all this time. Eve was the first one whose hand he wanted to reach for.

"I'll... show you," he finally managed to say, although the words tasted bitter on his tongue. Slowly, he turned away again and directed his steps towards the window. The light would be enough to see why he always wore long-sleeved clothes, even indoors.

Ray tried to pull himself together, but his hands still shook as he reached for the hem of the gray sweater. Agonizingly slowly, he lifted the heavy fabric and pulled it over his head before slipping it from his hands. The ink-stained skin was revealed, and the dull daylight brushed over the former soldier's tanned skin.

"I'm tattooed for a reason. I used to be, but I had the areas enlarged later," he explained faintly before turning so the light fell on his skin at precisely the right angle.

"Come here," he gently urged the young woman, who had stopped at an almost cute, safe distance with visibly wider eyes. In another moment, he would have savored the soft shade of red on her cheeks. But... Not now.

"Here."

In the bright glow, clear marks stood out beneath the black spots. Bulges and distorted bumps that ran out at odd angles. Scars that, at first glance, were covered and swallowed up by the ink and spread over the entire right side of his body.

Behind him, he heard a soft gasp, and Ray held his breath, too. His heart was pounding in his broad chest, and he didn't dare turn his head for fear of what he would see on her face.

What would a woman think at the sight of that?

All those scars ... they were ugly, he knew that. He almost let out a bitter laugh to make room for the pain that constricted his chest.

No doubt, he would only find disgust and revulsion in her eyes.

He felt it himself, day after day.