"Close our eyes, learn our pain," I thought to myself, the words echoing in my mind like a mantra as I watched Hudson stride up the cobbled path to the front door. His steps were heavy, deliberate, each one radiating a tension that was impossible to ignore.

Mason, sitting nearby, was a stone—his face devoid of expression, and that silence was more unnerving than anything he could have said. Woods, on the other hand, looked outright pissed. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fingers drummed impatiently against the arm of his chair. Adler sat beside me, but it was like he wasn't even in the room, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, his thoughts somewhere far away.

Park and Sims stood by the wall, side by side, their postures stiff and their eyes darting around the room as if searching for answers in the silence. The tension was palpable, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Then the porch door flung open with a bang, jolting everyone to attention. Hudson stepped inside, his expression as grim as the storm clouds gathering outside. His hands were weighed down with an armful of files, their edges frayed and worn, and he didn't waste a second before slamming them down on the bench in the centre of the room.

The sound made me sit up straighter, my pulse quickening as Hudson ran a hand over his face and exhaled sharply. He looked at all of us, his piercing gaze cutting through the silence like a blade. Whatever news he was carrying, it wasn't going to be good.

"Bottom line, Bell needs to go into protection for a few weeks." Hudson's voice didn't crack, but there was an emptiness to it—like he, too, was resigned to the weight of the situation. It was flat, stale, as if he were delivering news he already knew would land like a stone in our hearts.

Adler looked at me, his expression full of quiet regret, his eyes apologetic but helpless. Mason... Mason looked broken, like a piece of him had been shattered and left somewhere along the way. Woods, however, was the first to vocalize what everyone else was probably thinking. He slammed his hand against the wooden pillar in the kitchen, the sound echoing through the tense room.

"Fuck this, Hudson. Surely this can't be fair," he growled, his voice a mixture of frustration and disbelief. It was hard to argue with him; it didn't feel fair.

I was barely aware of the conversation swirling around me, my thoughts a mess of jumbled words and fear. I sat there, feeling detached from everything, as if I were in another world entirely. The air felt thick, and my stomach twisted uneasily. Was I going to be okay?

Hudson's gaze flicked over to me, and his eyes hardened, sending a chill down my spine. His words didn't soften the blow either. "You're being taken to a warehouse in Munich. You'll be kept there for a few weeks, and then you'll do basic training with Agent Weaver until you get back here."

My mind struggled to keep up with the reality of it all. Munich? Training? My brain was sluggish, processing everything slowly, like I was trying to catch up to something moving too fast.

I must've looked lost, because Mason appeared beside me, his rough hand landing gently on my shoulder. His voice was soft but firm, a grounding presence in the whirlwind of confusion. "It's gonna be alright, Kiddo. We aren't going anywhere without you."

I couldn't bring myself to speak, but hearing those words from Mason, knowing that I wasn't alone in this, helped settle some of the panic clawing at my insides. It didn't make the situation better, but it was something. And for now, something was enough.

I nodded quietly, wiping away the tear that had slipped down my cheek before it could betray me any further. The weight of Hudson's words still hung heavy in the air, but it was the sight of the brown-filed envelope he placed down in front of me that hit hardest. "Information you'll need for the next few days. You leave in two days," he said, his voice firm and final.

Without another word, Hudson gave a sharp nod to Adler, turned on his heel, and left with that same practiced detachment. There was no hesitation in his movements, no space for any of us to protest. The moment he left, Woods slammed his hands down on his thighs with a frustrated curse. "Fuck this shit," he muttered, voice low, thick with anger.

Adler stood frozen for a moment, his expression one of shock and disbelief, like he couldn't quite wrap his head around what was happening. Mason sighed deeply, as if the weight of it all had settled somewhere in his chest, making the air feel heavier. What else could we do but wait? The uncertainty gnawed at us. We had no control over what was happening. Hudson didn't want to lose me, and neither did Adler, Mason, or Frank. But the feeling of helplessness was all-consuming.

"Alright, Lovely." Park's voice broke through the tension as she walked up, her hand landing gently on my shoulder. The small squeeze she gave me was comforting, but it couldn't quite erase the dread swirling inside me.

"Yeah," I muttered, my gaze dropping to the bottle I was holding. I hadn't realized I'd already finished it, but it didn't matter. The numbness was all I had.

"Stop moping about, guys! Come on. We're safe here for now. We've sent out different pings to throw them off. This is the safest option for Bell right now," Lawrence's voice rang out sharply, his tone high, almost too upbeat for the situation. It rubbed us all the wrong way, his words not hitting the mark.

"Lawrence," Adler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, clearly trying to hold it together for all of us.

"I'm leaving to my room. Better get my shit packed," I muttered, the weight of everything dragging me down. I grabbed a beer from the fridge on my way out, the cold bottle a small, fleeting comfort as I made my way upstairs.

The distant chatter continued below me, muffled but still present, as my thoughts spun in a whirlpool of worry and sadness. And before I could stop them, more tears welled up, blurring my vision.

I reached my room and dragged myself over to the photo frame on my bedside table. It was from that night—the one Mason, Frank, and I had gotten drunk and almost gotten into serious trouble with Russell for being late. The memory made me laugh softly, despite the tears streaming down my face. It was a bittersweet kind of laugh, the kind you don't expect to escape your lips when you're choking on emotions. But the more I tried to hold it back, the harder the tears came.

I wiped my face but it didn't stop the sadness from pouring out. Sure as hell, I was going to miss them—miss the moments we shared, the sense of family they had given me. But the road ahead wasn't clear, and I wasn't sure when I'd get to see them again. The thought hit harder than I anticipated, making the warm tears flow harder, faster. I was losing myself in this mess, but there was nothing to do except let it happen. It was either stay here and put everyone in danger, or go to Munich and stay there till all of us were in the clear. 

A soft knock at the door made me quickly wipe my tears away. "Can I come in?" Mason's voice floated through the wood, gentle and steady.

"Sure," I replied, trying to steady my breathing.

Mason stepped into the room cautiously, his presence familiar and comforting. He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture tense. "This is only temporary, Bell," he said, his voice low. "Please remember that. Adler's not taking it very well either. Personally, I've never seen him like this."

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn't come. My throat felt tight, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't form a sentence. "I can't speak to anyone right now, Mason. I don't have any words," I finally muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mason nodded, understanding. He moved over to my side and gently picked up the photo frame from the bedside table. A small, nostalgic smile tugged at his lips as he looked at it, and I leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling the comfort of his presence.

"I remember this very well," he said, his voice softer now. "Frank fell out of the car as Russell was pissed at us for being late. Good times."

"Good times?" I leaned off of him and burst into laughter, the sound coming out louder than I expected. "I was scared shitless that Russell was going to murder me for being home late." I couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled out, and Mason joined in, his deep laugh echoing in the room, filling the space with something light for a moment.

Mason's smile faded, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he looked at me. "Hudson has placed you in good hands. No need to worry," he said, his tone serious but reassuring.

Before I could respond, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a comforting embrace. I buried my face into his shoulder, trying to hide the tears that had been threatening to fall again. I hated feeling so vulnerable, but Mason's warmth helped calm the storm inside me, even if just for a moment.

He didn't say anything else, just held me tightly, as if offering a silent promise that we would get through this together. All of us. 

I felt as if I'd been ripped apart all over again. Everything had been taken from me—my sense of safety, my control, and, most of all, the idea that I could trust anything or anyone. I felt naked to myself, exposed in a way that made my bones ache. The fear, the worry, the horror—it all hit me in waves. I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

Another knock at the door broke through my spiral, followed by the appearance of Woods' bearded face around the frame. He didn't wait for an invitation, stepping into the room with a determined look.

"Might want to read these files," he said, his deep voice steady but carrying an undertone of something unspoken. He handed the stack of papers over to Mason, who glanced at them briefly before passing them to me.

I flipped through the pages slowly, every line of text feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. Then, as I read, my eyes widened. A short, involuntary laugh escaped my chest—a laugh that seemed foreign, out of place, but it felt like the only thing I could do in that moment.

"You guys are coming with me?" I blurted out, staring at the words in disbelief.

Mason raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What?" he asked, confused.

I put my finger under the words, slowly reading them out loud. "Mason, Woods, and Bell to be sent out to Munich for the protection of Bell."

I looked up at Woods, then back down at the paper, still trying to process. "Why didn't Hudson state this?" I asked, flicking through more of the pages. There was no mention of Russell coming with us, but Park and Lawrence were staying in Berlin to handle other matters.

A yellow page slipped out from between the documents, fluttering to the floor with a soft rustle. I bent down to pick it up, but as I touched the paper, something shifted inside me. A jolt ran through my body, sudden and sharp. My head went light, and a buzzing noise filled my ears, like electricity sparking through my veins.

Everything around me seemed to blur, the words on the page becoming a haze. I couldn't focus on them. Instead, memories, sensations, and feelings flooded back all at once, sharp and overwhelming. For a second, I didn't know whether I was going to collapse from the rush or if something inside me was about to snap.

I blinked, trying to steady myself, but it was as if the walls were closing in. Everything felt distant, but then, everything felt too close—too familiar in a way that terrified me. My breath quickened as I gripped the yellow page tighter, trying to anchor myself in the moment.

"Mason," I breathed, my voice shaky, "something's not right. I feel like... something's coming."

I sat down on the bed, my mind a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts. Woods and Mason stood there, exchanging confused looks as I tried to calm myself. Flashes of images and words flooded my mind, each one more vivid than the last. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but it kept coming.

The words I'd seen earlier—those papers—they weren't just files. They were something more, something dangerous. A phrase kept repeating itself in my head:

'These documents stated multiple countries to have nukes set out in preparation for a closeby war. 1979. Not to be known by anyone apart from the President of the United States.'

The words were so clear, so precise. But how did I know them? I couldn't have read them in the file—I hadn't even gotten to that part yet. My heart raced as the realization hit me. My mind was suddenly playing catch-up with the past, pulling memories from somewhere deep, somewhere I didn't fully understand.

I stood abruptly, my legs shaky, and grabbed Mason by the arm. His confused gaze locked with mine, but I barely registered it. The room seemed to spin, the air thick with tension. "The documents," I said, my voice low but steady, as if the words were pulling me along, forcing me to speak.

Woods stood frozen, his face a mix of confusion and growing concern. It was as if he could see something shifting in me, something he couldn't quite grasp. And then it clicked for him.

"You remember?" Mason asked, his voice hushed, as if afraid to speak too loudly.

My chest tightened as the pieces started to fall into place. Did I remember? Or was it more than just remembering? Was this a warning? Or a fragment of something buried in my mind for too long?

I glanced down at the yellow page still in my hand, the words from earlier repeating in my mind, and the weight of what they meant began to settle in. These weren't just some run-of-the-mill files—they were classified. Top secret.

I could feel my pulse in my temples, the tension in the room thickening as I stood there, trying to make sense of everything. The documents weren't just about Bell's protection—they were about something far bigger, something the world wasn't supposed to know.

I looked at Mason, then at Woods, both of them waiting for me to piece together the chaos in my head. I had no idea how I knew what I knew, but I couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Someone's coming for those files," I whispered, the weight of the words sinking in.

------

I sat at the kitchen table, the empty bottles of alcohol scattered around me as I chugged down another beer, trying to numb everything, if only for a little while. My head was spinning from everything going on, and I could feel the weight of the coming days pressing down on me.

The door creaked open, and Sims and Park stepped in, their presence immediately cutting through the haze of my thoughts. I didn't even look up as they approached.

"Last night here, give me a break," I muttered under my breath, taking another swig of beer. I was pretty sure my mood was as sour as it could get, and it seemed like they knew it too.

"We just came to say goodbye and good luck. That's all, love," Park said softly, sitting beside me on the edge of the table. Her hand landed gently on my leg, and I glanced over at her, giving a half-hearted smile.

"I appreciate it," I replied, my voice low. "I'll see you guys when I get back." It was supposed to be reassuring, but even I didn't fully believe it.

"We'll all be here for you when you, Mason, and Woods get back," Sims said, offering a warm smile. It felt genuine, but in my current state, I couldn't quite muster the energy to respond in kind.

"Talk to you guys later," I muttered, giving a short nod before getting up. I wasn't much for long goodbyes, especially when I knew what was coming. The room felt too heavy, too full of things I didn't want to deal with right now.

I walked down the hall, my steps dragging slightly as I headed for Adler's room. I hadn't seen much of him since Hudson left the house, and, to be honest, I felt like I didn't know everything I was supposed to know. I needed to talk to him, to feel like there was something stable amidst all the chaos. I knocked on the door and waited, hoping he'd be in.

I knew he wasn't in any place to talk. The silence on the other end was all the confirmation I needed. Part of me was shattering, unwilling to leave him in this state. The other part of me felt disconnected, like I was floating in some other realm, unable to process the chaos unraveling between us.

"It's me, Ad. Let me in," I called softly as I tapped on his door.

A moment later, it creaked open. He stood there, a cigarette perched between his fingers and a half-empty drink in his other hand. His frame filled the doorway, tall and imposing, but his expression was hollow, his smile long gone.

"Can I?" I gestured toward his room. He gave a slow, reluctant nod and stepped aside. I slipped past him, my eyes scanning the space. The room was dimly lit, the faint scent of smoke and whiskey lingering in the air. I settled on the corner of his bed, crossing my legs, watching as he leaned against one of the posts like a man weighed down by the world.

"I'm sorry this happened," Adler muttered, his voice rough as he sank into the armchair across from me. He rubbed his temple as if trying to scrub the guilt from his mind.

"It was bound to happen," I replied, letting out a bitter laugh. My tone was laced with frustration, but underneath it was a deep well of exhaustion. Grabbing the drink from his side table, I took a long sip, the alcohol burning down my throat. Words failed me, emotions swirling too chaotically to form anything coherent. My body felt wrong—lightheaded and nauseous, as if the events of the night had completely unmoored me.

"I know," Adler said, his voice soft, pained. "I don't know why we ever thought you were safe."

"Stitch was always going to find me," I murmured, setting the glass down and rising from the bed. The heaviness in my chest didn't lift as I walked to the mirrored trolley on the other side of the room, pouring another drink into my glass. My reflection stared back at me, pale and drawn. "He told me he'd find me—warned me, actually. Said he'd make sure I never got a chance to work on the offer."

Adler sighed heavily, the sound filling the space between us like a storm cloud rolling in. When I turned back, his eyes—those piercing, beautiful eyes—were trained on me, tracing the lines of my body as though searching for cracks. For some reason, that gaze was more intoxicating than the alcohol.

"It's still my fault," he said, his voice breaking under the weight of his regret. He stood then, his figure shadowed by the dim light, his presence almost overwhelming.

"Don't," I whispered, holding his gaze. "Don't make this about you." But even as I said it, I knew his guilt mirrored my own. We were both caught in the same suffocating spiral, two souls tethered to a disaster neither of us could escape.

I rolled my eyes, setting the drink down on a nearby table, then stepped closer to Adler. Gently, I placed my hands on both of his arms, grounding him, trying to ground myself. My gaze softened as I looked into his weary eyes, offering a reassuring smile that I wasn't sure either of us truly believed.

"It isn't your fault," I said quietly. "This is just... a messy situation. One that will get solved soon."

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. For a moment, he hesitated, but then his arms circled me tightly, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder. His hug spoke what words couldn't—a silent apology, a plea for forgiveness, a desperate attempt to keep me close. When I pulled back, his eyes were sad, dark pools of guilt and longing.

I didn't know how to feel. Everything inside me was muted—numbness where anger or fear should have been, exhaustion where strength had once lived. The alcohol coursing through my veins dulled the sharp edges, but it also left me feeling brittle, like I might crumble at any second. I was drunk, tired, and a little broken. And worst of all, I knew I was leaving in the morning. The thought of walking away from Adler made my stomach twist painfully.

Hudson was right, though. I didn't have a choice. If I stayed, I wouldn't survive. Stitch would see to that. The last thing I wanted was to face him again, not after what had already happened.

But the weight of it all—the uncertainty, the guilt, the ache of leaving Adler—was too much. My breaths came uneven, shallow. I felt untethered, and before I could pull myself together, Adler's hands were on me, anchoring me to the present.

His lips found the curve of my neck, trailing down my skin in a way that left me breathless. His hands roamed my body, gentle but insistent, as if memorizing every inch of me. His warmth pressed against me, his presence consuming, and when his lips finally captured mine, it was as though everything else melted away—the fear, the doubt, the unbearable weight of tomorrow.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice low and raw, his eyes burning with something between desperation and desire.

I felt myself shatter and rebuild all at once. "I want you too, Adler," I replied, my words spilling out in a rush, as if they'd been waiting to escape all along.

--------

There I was, lying beside Adler in the quiet stillness of his room, my fingers lazily tracing soft circles on his chest. The warmth of his skin against mine felt like the only real thing in a world that had otherwise spun out of control.

His voice broke the silence, soft and laced with vulnerability. "Please tell me when you leave in the morning. I'm afraid you'll just be gone, Bell."

The way he said my name made my heart twist. There was a weight in his words that I didn't want to carry, a truth I didn't want to face. But for now, I let it fade into the background. My mind was still caught up in the night we'd just shared—a night that felt like it had suspended time itself. It had been electric, raw, and so achingly perfect that it eclipsed everything else, even the fear of tomorrow. A smile tugged at my lips, wide and uncontrollable, as I thought about how seamlessly we had fit together, our bodies in sync in ways I hadn't even thought possible. For a while, it had made me forget.

I tilted my head to look up at him, my fingers pausing against his chest. "Russell, I don't want to leave at all." My voice was quiet but steady, the truth of my words hanging heavily in the air. "I will, don't worry."

His gaze softened, and something in his expression—a mix of relief and sadness—made my heart ache. I shifted closer, lifting myself just enough to brush my lips against his in a soft kiss. It wasn't urgent like before; it was gentle, tender, as if I were trying to tell him without words what I couldn't fully explain: that no matter where I went, a piece of me would always stay here, with him.