Russell Adler lay peacefully, his soft snores breaking the silence of the room. The dim light seeping through the blinds painted shifting patterns on his muscular frame, tracing the scars etched across his back like battle-worn stories written in flesh. He looked serene, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts raging in my mind.

I sat on the edge of the bed, lacing up my boots, my movements slow and deliberate. Each tug on the laces felt like a step closer to the inevitable. My gaze kept flickering back to him, studying the rise and fall of his chest. A part of me wanted to freeze time, to linger in this moment just a little longer. But I couldn't. Not now.

Beside me on the nightstand lay a small notebook and a black pen, their presence almost taunting. They were tools for expression, but how could I articulate the weight pressing down on my chest? My heart felt fractured, each beat tinged with an ache I couldn't name. Words, which normally flowed easily, now felt elusive.

I reached for the notebook, the cool texture grounding me. The pen felt heavier than it should have as I rolled it between my fingers, staring at the blank page. How was I supposed to put this into words? How could I condense the tangled mess of emotions—regret, longing, sadness—into ink on paper?

The thought of waking him crossed my mind, of saying goodbye face to face, but my throat tightened at the idea. I didn't trust my voice to carry the weight of what I felt. Writing seemed safer. It was a coward's way out, perhaps, but it was all I had.

With a deep breath, I began to write. Each stroke of the pen felt like peeling back a layer of my heart, exposing what lay beneath. I didn't know if the words would ever do justice to the storm within me, but I owed him something, even if it wasn't perfect. Even if it wasn't enough.

"Dear Adler,

From the very start, you've been my beacon of hope. Sitting here now, watching you sleep so peacefully, my heart feels like it's being torn in two. Part of me shatters with every word I write because I don't have the courage to say goodbye to your face. So here I am, putting pen to paper instead of waking you. It feels cowardly, but it's all I can manage.

Leaving hurts. More than I ever thought it would. You've been my sanctuary, my safe harbour when the storms raged. The home you've given me isn't just a place—it's you. It's your presence, your strength, your care.

Everything you've done for me has meant more than I could ever say. Your smile, your laugh, those late nights where the world faded away because it was just us—they're etched into my soul. Since I arrived in your life, you've done nothing but care for me, in ways I'll never forget. I am so, so thankful for you, Russell Adler.

I don't know what lies ahead, but a part of me will carry this with me—carry you with me—for as long as we're apart. Your heart, Adler, is made of pure gold, and I hope you know that. No matter how far I go, I'll be back. I promise.

Back soon,
Bell."

I underlined my name with a trembling hand, my chest tight as if the words themselves had taken pieces of me with them.

Quietly, I stood and crossed the room, each step weighted with hesitation. He looked so at peace, his scars softened in the pale light. I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment as if I could seal this memory into my heart.

"Goodbye," I whispered, the word catching in my throat. "Until we meet again."

I kissed him once more, my lips brushing gently against his skin, before tiptoeing to the door. Every step felt heavier than the last, but I forced myself forward. As I slipped out of the room, I cast one last glance back, my heart silently promising to return.

Frank, Mason, and Hudson were already waiting for me on the porch as the black car idled nearby, its exhaust clouding the crisp morning air. The hour was painfully early—just shy of six in the morning—and the faint hues of dawn were beginning to stretch across the horizon. Mason's weary eyes were bloodshot, evidence of a sleepless night, and Frank looked barely awake, shifting his weight sluggishly as if he were running on autopilot.

Hudson, as composed as ever, stood at the edge of the steps, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp gaze betrayed no hint of fatigue. "Weaver will meet you at the rendezvous point with a small team," he said, his voice unwavering, as if he hadn't just spent the night strategizing. "You'll be safe until we lock down a solid lead on these bastards."

Mason, ever the helpful one, silently grabbed my bag and hoisted it into the trunk of the truck. He didn't complain, but his tired sigh gave him away. Hudson turned to him and Woods, his tone firm. "Woods, Mason—you know the drill. I'm counting on you to protect Bell at all costs. No mistakes."

His words hung heavy in the chilly air. Protect me? The reminder of the danger we were walking into made my stomach tighten. But I gave Hudson a small nod, masking my unease as best I could, and climbed into the truck. A yawn slipped out before I could stop it, exhaustion pulling at me.

Mason slid into the seat beside me, his presence a quiet reassurance, while Woods claimed the passenger seat up front. The faint squeak of the leather as Mason settled in drew my attention. He glanced my way, his face softening. He wasn't blind to the shadow of sadness I carried with me. He tried his best to lift the mood, flashing me one of his signature crooked smiles.

"This'll all sort itself out, Bell," he said, his voice laced with confidence. "No need to stress."

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the ache of leaving Adler behind still lingered, heavy and inescapable. I leaned my head against the window as the truck pulled away from the house, the place I'd come to think of as home. The distance between us and Adler grew with every mile, and the thought felt like a knot tightening in my chest.

The drive to Berlin Central Station was a blur, and soon we were boarding the train bound for Munich. It wasn't an ordinary train—it had been cleared out entirely for our use, save for the presence of armed soldiers stationed at every corner. Their sharp eyes scanned for danger, but their presence only heightened my unease. The confined space, the silence punctuated only by the rattle of the train—it all made me feel trapped, like the walls were closing in.

The soldiers, while there to protect us, added to my discomfort. Their imposing figures and unyielding stances made the air feel heavy, almost suffocating. I shifted in my seat, trying to shake the feeling of claustrophobia clawing at my edges. Mason must've noticed because he leaned closer, his voice low and reassuring. "You're going to be fine," he murmured. "We're here, remember? Nothing's going to happen to you."

Woods, from the front seat, chimed in with a glance over his shoulder. "Keep your head on straight, kid. We've got this under control."

The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks filled the silence, a steady backdrop to my thoughts. The weight of what lay ahead pressed against me like a heavy fog, and no amount of reassurances from Woods or Mason could cut through it. My mind kept drifting back to Adler, still resting peacefully in that quiet house. The memory of his sleeping form, bathed in soft light, was my anchor in the chaos. I clung to it, hoping against hope that this wouldn't be the last time I'd see him.

Mason, ever perceptive, broke the silence. "Did you say goodbye to Adler?" he asked, his tone casual, but his gaze fixed on me as I sipped from a Styrofoam cup of bitter train station coffee.

I shook my head, the familiar ache rising in my chest. "No," I admitted, setting the cup down on the small table between us. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. Left a letter, though." My sigh felt heavy, like it carried everything I hadn't said.

Mason gave a small nod, his expression softening. He didn't press further, which I appreciated. There wasn't much else to say about it. The rest of the train ride stretched ahead of us like an endless road, and I resigned myself to enduring the five hours in relative silence.

For a while, the steady hum of the train and the warmth of the compartment lulled me into a light doze. My head eventually found its way to Mason's shoulder, the comfort of his steady presence grounding me as I drifted in and out of sleep. The quiet murmur of conversation filtered through my dreams, Frank's voice carrying faintly as he recounted stories from Vietnam. I caught bits and pieces—tales of camaraderie, hardship, and humour between him, Mason, and Hudson. It was fascinating in its own way, the glimpses of their shared history offering a sense of connection amidst the unknown.

The train felt stiflingly humid, the air thick with the collective breaths of those on board. It added to the haze of exhaustion settling over me. I stirred briefly, blinking blearily at Mason, who gave me a reassuring smile before I surrendered once more to sleep.

The steady rise and fall of Mason's breathing beside me, coupled with the rhythmic motion of the train, became my lullaby. For now, I let myself rest, seeking solace in the small moments of quiet before the storm.

The train booth was cramped, its small table barely able to hold the yellow papers scattered across it. Except, the papers weren't really there—they existed only in my mind. My hands hovered over the imaginary documents as if I could pull them from the ether. The words, the sentences, the meanings—I decoded them over and over, trying to make sense of the puzzle lodged in my head.

My eyes shot open, and I blinked hard, forcing myself back into the present. The phantom papers disappeared, replaced by the dim lighting of the train booth and the muted hum of the rails beneath us. I rubbed my temples, trying to banish the headache building behind my eyes.

"Are you okay, Bell?" Frank asked from across the booth, his voice cutting through the fog in my mind. He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, but his eyes were sharp with concern.

I exhaled a shaky breath and met his gaze. "I keep getting flashbacks of things. Pieces. Like fragments I can't quite put together." My voice wavered slightly, and I shook my head. "I think I'm just... worried, Frank."

Frank's expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he let out a hearty laugh, the sound filling the small booth. "Worried? You've got the best damn men around you." He gestured to himself and the others nearby. "What's there to worry about? We're here. It's all okay."

His confidence was steady, unshakable, and for a moment, I let it anchor me. I nodded faintly, even if the unease in my chest hadn't completely faded.

The door to the booth slid open with a quiet hiss, and the aroma of food wafted in as a few people dressed in impeccable catering uniforms stepped inside, balancing trays of hot dishes. The sight of real food was enough to stir everyone from their half-asleep states.

"'Bout time," Mason muttered, stretching in his seat as he roused himself. He rubbed his eyes and sat up straight, eyeing the plates with newfound enthusiasm.

I glanced out the window as the catering staff set the food down, the faint glow of the early morning sun painting the landscape in soft light. For a brief moment, the tension that had been gripping me loosened. Mason and Frank exchanged quips about the food as Woods joined in, his voice carrying over the sound of the train's rumble.

Though the fragments of the puzzle in my head refused to come together, I let myself lean into the moment. The voices of the team, the warm scent of food, the faint sunlight streaming in—all of it reminded me that, even amidst the uncertainty, I wasn't alone.

Mason's demeanour was starting to concern me. Each passing day, he seemed quieter, more withdrawn, as if carrying a weight he wasn't ready to share. Maybe I was reading into it too much—it wouldn't have been the first time my overthinking got the better of me—but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was bothering him. And it wasn't just Mason on my mind.

My thoughts bounced like static electricity, unable to settle on one thing for long. My death sentence, signed and sealed by Stitch himself, lingered in the back of my mind like a shadow. Then there was Russell—Adler, the man I'd left behind without so much as a proper goodbye. And the cursed documents lodged in my memory. And this damn train, rattling steadily along tracks that seemed to stretch into infinity. It was all too much, and I didn't have the strength to unpack it, not now.

Frank and Mason, for their part, seemed to understand. Neither of them pushed me to talk, for which I was grateful.

The food arrived, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind in my head. We dug in, and the warm, savoury flavours reminded me just how long it had been since I'd eaten. Frank, always observant, caught me off guard as he grinned around a mouthful of food.

"So," he said, his voice casual but his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "How did Adler take you leaving?"

I froze, mid-bite, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "He didn't," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. I set my fork down and stared at my plate as if it could offer me an escape. "I left a note and slipped out before he woke up. I couldn't do it, Woods."

Frank let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Better than leaving without saying anything, I suppose." His tone was light, but his words lingered.

The conversation petered out after that, the booth falling into a comfortable silence as we focused on eating. No one seemed inclined to fill the quiet, and I didn't mind. I turned my attention to the window, chewing thoughtfully as the world outside unfolded before me.

The fields beyond Berlin stretched endlessly, their quiet beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil in my head. The sun had just climbed above the horizon, bathing the landscape in a soft golden glow. Every so often, we passed through bustling station stops where crowds of people waited for their own journeys to begin. The sight was mesmerizing, an oddly serene glimpse of life moving on, unaffected by the chaos surrounding us.

And yet, with every mile the train covered, I felt further away from home. The thought lodged itself firmly in my chest, and I swallowed hard, pushing it down. I couldn't afford to dwell on it, not now. The train rolled on, and so did we, hurtling toward whatever waited for us at the end of the line.

------

The room was barren, its emptiness almost oppressive. A single bed sat in the corner, its frame dull and utilitarian, with a green metal locker stationed on the opposite side like a forgotten relic. A lone window let in a faint trickle of light, casting long shadows that made the place feel more like a holding cell than a temporary home. I stood there for a moment, taking it all in, the silence pressing against me.

This wasn't home, I thought. It never could be.

With a heavy sigh, I dropped my bags onto the floor. The dull thud echoed in the room, amplifying its emptiness. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to steel myself for however long I'd have to endure living here. The knowledge that Mason was just next door and Woods a few doors down brought some comfort, but not much.

Did I want this? I asked myself, already knowing the answer. No. I wanted Adler. I wanted home. But was this the best option? Yes. It had to be.

Still, I felt adrift. The only anchor I had left was Woods and Mason. Without them, I knew I wouldn't have been able to cope. They were my safety net, even if they didn't know the full extent of what I was carrying.

The documents weighed heavily on my mind, a secret burden I hadn't shared with anyone. Not yet. Not even with Mason or Woods. It wasn't that I didn't trust them—I did. But the magnitude of it, the danger it posed, felt like too much to put on their shoulders. And yet, the longer I kept it to myself, the more it gnawed at me. The pressure was building, and I knew I couldn't keep it bottled up forever.

Exhaustion seeped into my bones as I sat on the edge of the rock-hard bed. The thin mattress did little to cushion me, and I let myself fall back, staring at the ceiling. My eyes burned, and before I could stop myself, a tear slipped down my cheek. Then another.

My thoughts drifted to Adler, as they often did. I pictured him in that quiet house, likely waking up to find me gone. The memory of leaving without saying goodbye twisted in my chest, sharp and unforgiving. I wanted to see him, to hear his voice, even if it was filled with anger. Because he'd hate me now, wouldn't he?

I sat up, restless. My legs carried me aimlessly around the small, dark room, my teeth worrying at my lower lip. My thoughts spiralled, chaotic and unrelenting. I couldn't let anyone see me like this, couldn't let them know how much I was struggling. I had to keep it together—for them, for myself.

A sharp knock at the door startled me, jolting me from my thoughts. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to face it.

"Weaver," I murmured under my breath, recognizing the silhouette beyond the frosted glass.

I hesitated, wiping at my face quickly before crossing the room to open the door.

"Good to have you back," Weaver said with a grin, setting a stack of files down on the metal table with a soft clatter.

"Good to have me back?" I repeated, a confused frown tugging at my brow. Was he serious? The guy seemed a little... off. I shot him a weirded-out smile, unsure if I was missing something.

Weaver seemed unphased by my confusion and threw his hands up in exaggerated gestures. "Ah, Hudson didn't tell you that part? Well, years ago—1973, I think," he paused, gesturing vaguely. "For short while."

I blinked, processing his words. "Wait, what? I can't remember much from that time. Was this before I went to Warsaw?" I asked, finally pushing myself to pull out a chair and sit down.

I flipped through the files, letting the rustling of paper fill the silence between us. As I scanned through the documents, I couldn't help but notice the gaps in my own memory. There were whole stretches of time I couldn't quite place, moments that just... weren't there. They were foggy, like trying to recall a dream that slipped away the moment you woke up. Some things came back in brief flashes—snippets of a mission, a location, a person—but it was rare. It was unsettling, honestly. It felt like part of me had been erased, as if someone had deliberately wiped out a piece of my life, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't grasp it again. It scared me more than I let on.

I glanced up at Weaver, who had settled onto the bed, his eye patch covering one of his eyes and the stubble on his chin giving him a weathered look. "Yeah, you worked with us for a while," he nodded, his voice calm, as though discussing old history.

I set the file down, my hands momentarily still as the weight of his words sank in. "Yeah, as I said," I replied quietly, my voice trailing off, "I can't remember much before 1975."

I wasn't sure if it was relief or frustration that bubbled up inside me. The truth was, I had no clear grasp of who I was before then, and it gnawed at me. What had happened before the fog took over? And why couldn't I find a way to bring it all back into focus?

Weaver nodded again, pointing to the files stacked on the table.

"Those are information booklets on training, schedule, routine, and whatever else you need to know. Help yourself. This'll be your home for a while."

His words hung in the air, heavy with finality. It felt like a weight had dropped on my chest as the reality of the situation set in. I didn't want this. I didn't want to be here, away from Adler, away from the life I had started to build. But this was my reality now.

Weaver gave me a small, almost pitying smile, then turned and left the room. I watched him go, his footsteps fading down the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone again in the sterile, empty space.

I was still putting a few books away when Mason walked in, his presence like a welcome relief from the weight of the room. He caught my eye and smiled, his voice soft and casual.

"Need a hand with anything?"

I shook my head, letting out a breath as I finished tidying up. "I don't think so. I've pretty much unpacked everything already, so..." I paused, spotting a couple of things in the corner that needed to be dealt with. I pointed my finger toward them. "Would you actually mind putting those above the green locker? My short ass can't reach."

Mason let out a loud laugh, a genuine, amused sound that cut through the silence. "Of course," he said, effortlessly lifting the box and setting it on top of the green locker with ease. "Shortie."

I couldn't help it. I stood there in disbelief for a moment, then burst into a full belly laugh. "Dude, not fair."

Mason giggled once more, ruffling his dark hair. "Hey, you can't help it," he teased. "It's just your height."

I grabbed a small book from my desk and moved it to a different spot, trying to ignore the dull ache that gnawed at me.

Mason shifted his weight, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. His eyes were studying me now, and I could tell he wasn't going to let the conversation slide. "Do you miss him?"

I froze for a second, the question hitting me harder than I expected. I exhaled a long, shaky breath, trying to keep my composure. "I do," I admitted, my voice quiet. "I miss him every damn day."

I paused for a moment, turning back to my things and putting them away, the motion mechanical as I tried to push the lump in my throat down. I walked over to the small window and opened it, letting the fresh air rush in, a welcome change from the stale atmosphere of the room. "It is what it is, Mason. I'll see him when I see him."

Mason didn't say anything for a moment, just watched me with that quiet understanding in his eyes. "It's just that you've been tense all day," he said gently.

I froze, a wave of guilt crashing over me.

Stop making me feel even more guilty, Mason. I didn't say it out loud, but the words burned in my chest. He didn't need to call it out. He didn't need to know how much it hurt to be away from Adler, how torn I felt. But I knew Mason cared, and I appreciated it. Even if it made me feel like I was failing somehow.

"I'm fine," I said, forcing a smile. "Just... getting used to things, you know?"

Mason seemed to accept that, though I knew he wasn't entirely convinced. He pushed off the wall and gave me a small nod. "Alright. Just... don't bottle it up, okay?"

I nodded back, not trusting myself to say anything else.

I could feel the weight of the silence pressing in on me as I ignored the stack of documents that lay on the table. The words were still there, haunting me, but I couldn't bring myself to face them—not yet. Instead, I focused on Mason, who was watching me closely.

"Do you blame me?" I asked, my voice thick with frustration. "I've been sent across, away from Berlin because they found me. My death sentence was at the door."

Mason didn't hesitate. He moved toward me and pulled me into his arms, his embrace tight and comforting. I sank into it, letting the warmth of his presence momentarily ease the tension that had built in my chest. "This'll be good, Bell," he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. "Dinner will be ready in a while. Are you sure you're alright?"

I pulled back just slightly, enough to meet his gaze. I didn't want to lie to him, but the truth seemed too heavy to share. "Yes, I'm fine," I said with a sigh, though I knew my words didn't entirely match what I felt.

He gave a small nod, as if he understood more than I was letting on. Without another word, he turned and left, pulling the door shut quietly behind him.

I stood there for a moment, the room feeling even more empty than before. The documents were still on the table, their presence nagging at me like a wound that refused to heal. I kept pulling myself for not telling him—telling Mason, telling anyone. But these documents, this information, could be the spark that started something catastrophic. I couldn't risk it. Not yet.

A war, maybe. Or something even worse. And I couldn't bring myself to pull them into this.

With a shaky breath, I turned my back on the files. It was easier to pretend they weren't there, at least for now. But the truth was, I was running out of time.