AGE 19-30 - THE YEARS OF NOTHING
Kill after kill.
Mission after mission.
Year after year.
Evan became exactly what they'd wanted.
Efficient. Cold. Effective.
No hesitation. No regret. No feeling.
He told himself it was victory. Success. Purpose.
But late at night, alone in his barracks, he felt the emptiness.
The hollow space where something used to be.
He didn't know what was missing. Couldn't name it.
Just knew that every day felt like wading through thick mud.
Exhausting. Heavy. Meaningless.
By age twenty-five, he had the highest elimination count in his division.
Morrison noticed.
"Cross. Come with me."
Morrison's office was pristine. Cold. Like the man himself.
"You're being transferred to my direct command. Special operations. High-value targets."
"Yes, sir."
"You don't seem excited."
"I don't get excited, sir. I just do the work."
Morrison smiled. "That's exactly why I want you. You're a machine, Cross. Perfect and pitiless. That's what we need."
Evan should have felt proud.
Felt nothing.
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me. Just keep doing what you do best. Keep killing them. Keep protecting humanity."
"Yes, sir."
Under Morrison's command, the missions got darker.
Not just scouts. Not just soldiers.
Civilians. Refugees. Anyone who crossed the barrier.
"No mercy. No exceptions. They're all enemies."
Evan followed orders.
Pulled the trigger.
Felt nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Until one night, he woke up gasping, tears on his face, unable to remember what he'd been dreaming about.
Only knowing that he'd been screaming for his mother.
Evan was twenty-seven when Morrison sent him to investigate elf sympathizers.
"There's a safe house near the western border. Humans helping elves cross. Eliminate them."
Evan led the raid.
Kicked in the door.
Found two injured elves—teenagers, barely older than children.
And a woman tending their wounds.
A woman with gray-streaked hair and familiar eyes.
Helena Cross.
His mother.
For a moment, time stopped.
Nineteen years.
He'd been gone nineteen years.
"Evan," she breathed.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
"Ma'am, step away from the targets," one of his unit said.
Helena stood, placing herself between them and the elves.
"No."
"Ma'am—"
"I said no. They're children. Injured. Not a threat."
"They're elves."
Evan found his voice. "Everyone out."
"Sir—"
"OUT. Now."
His unit obeyed, confused.
Evan stood alone with his mother and two terrified young elves.
"You're helping them," he said flatly.
"Yes."
"You know the penalty."
"I do."
"Then why?"
Helena looked at him—really looked—and he saw tears forming.
"Because it's right. Because they're people, Evan. Just like us. They have families. Hopes. Dreams. They deserve compassion."
"They killed Dad."
"No. The war killed your father. Human bullets killed your father. I saw the wounds. I knew."
Evan felt something crack inside him.
"You lied to me. You told me they were elves."
"I did. And I've regretted it every day since. Because that lie helped them take you. Helped them turn you into..." She gestured at his uniform, his weapons. "Into this."
"This is what protects humanity—"
"This is what perpetuates hate!" Helena stepped toward him. "Look at yourself, Evan! Look at what you've become! You're killing people—actual people with lives and families—because you were taught to hate! Because—"
"I don't hate. I just do my job."
"That's worse! Hate at least means you feel something! But you're just... empty. Going through the motions. My beautiful boy who used to save injured birds is gone."
"He died when you left him."
Helena's face crumpled. "No. He's still in there. I know he is. I can see him. Right now. In the way you sent your unit away. In the way you haven't shot these children yet."
"I should arrest you."
"Then do it."
"You'll be executed."
"I know."
"Stop this. Save yourself."
"And let them die?" Helena gestured to the young elves. "No. I'm done sacrificing children to hate. Even if it costs me everything."
Evan stared at her for a long moment." You lost yours."
Then turned to leave.
"You have five minutes. Go out the back. I'll tell my unit you escaped before we arrived."
"Evan—" She reached out to touch his face but he stepped back.
"And don't come back. Next time, I won't be able to let you go."
Helena felt guilty then moved quickly, gathering the two elves.
At the door, she stopped.
Pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.
"This is where I am. Where you can find me. If you ever need... if you ever want to come home."
She held it out.
Evan didn't take it.
Helena set it on the table.
"I know you think I'm your enemy now. But I'm your mother. And I love you. And that will never change."
She moved to the door.
Stopped again.
"If you ever want to reach me. If you can't come but need to tell me something. Do this."
She showed him: a specific arrangement of rocks by the old well in the town square. Three white stones, two dark ones, in a particular pattern.
"I check it every week. If you leave that pattern, I'll know. I'll wait at the well at midnight the next night. We can talk. Even if it's just for a minute."
"I won't use it."
"But if you need to. If someday you need me. It's there. I carry you with me ."
She left.
Evan stood alone in the empty safe house.
His unit came back in.
"They escaped, sir?"
"Yes. Out the back. By the time we arrived."
"Should we pursue?"
"No. They're gone. We'll report it and move on."
Evan folded the paper with her address carefully, right next to Yusuf's.
Put it in his pocket.
Told himself he'd throw it away later.
Never did.
Carried it with him for five years.
Never used it.
Never arranged the rocks.
Never went to see her.
But kept the paper.
Just in case.
After seeing Helena, something changed.
Not much. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But Evan noticed.
He started hesitating. Just a second. Before pulling the trigger.
Started seeing faces instead of targets.
Started wondering if they had families. Mothers. Children.
He buried it. Pushed it down. Kept working.
But the emptiness grew.
By age thirty, he was taking pills to sleep.
By thirty-one, he was volunteering for the most dangerous missions.
Not to prove himself.
But hoping maybe one would be the one that finally ended it.
Morrison noticed.
"You're slipping, Cross."
"No sir."
"You hesitated on the last mission. Two seconds. Two seconds is the difference between life and death."
"It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't."
Age thirty-one was the worst year.
Evan went through the motions. Completed missions. Maintained his efficiency.
But inside, he was dying.
Every kill felt heavier.
Every mission more meaningless.
He'd wake up at night, gasping, his mother's voice in his ears: "My beautiful boy who used to save injured birds is gone."
Was he gone?
Sometimes Evan would look at his hands—the hands that had killed so many—and not recognize them.
Sometimes he'd see his reflection and think, "Who is that?"
Sometimes he'd lie awake and think about walking into the forest and never coming back.
Just disappearing.
Stopping.
But he never did.
Just kept going through the motions.
Kept being the weapon they'd made him.
Because what else was there?
One day,
Morrison called him into his office.
"Cross. I'm pulling you from field work for a few weeks."
"Sir?"
"You need a break. Some easy duty. Get your head straight."
"I don't need—"
"That's an order."
Evan's jaw clenched but he nodded. "Yes, sir."
"I'm assigning you to interrogation duty. We've got an elf in custody. Child. Wandered into our territory. We need intelligence about elf movements near the border."
Something in Evan's chest tightened. "A child?"
"Five years old, we think. Young enough to break easily. Old enough to have information."
"Sir, I'm a hunter, not—"
"You'll do what I tell you to do, Cross. Report to Facility Seven tomorrow morning."
Evan lay awake that night.
A child.
They wanted him to interrogate a child.
Five years old.
The same age he'd been when his father died.
Three years younger than when they'd taken him.
He could refuse. Could request a different assignment.
But that would mean questions. Suspicion. Maybe reassignment to something worse.
So he'd do it.
Go in. Extract the information quickly. Get it over with.
It was just another mission.
Just another target.
He'd done worse.
He could do this.
Evan arrived at Facility Seven at dawn.
Walked down the sterile corridors.
Reached the holding cells.
"Subject is in Cell 3. Young female. Hasn't spoken much. Mostly cries."
"Understood."
Evan took the file. Didn't read it.
Didn't want to know details.
Easier that way.
He stood outside Cell 3 for a long moment.
Took a breath.
Opened the door.
The cell was small. Cold. Bare concrete.
And in the corner, pressed against the wall—
A child.
Golden hair. Pointed ears. Huge amber eyes.
So small.
Smaller than he'd expected.
Thin. Terrified. Alone.
Evan froze in the doorway.
She was just a kid.
A scared little kid.
"Subject is an elf child, approximately five years old. Cross, extract information about elf movements. Use whatever means necessary."
Morrison's voice in his ear through the comm.
Evan approached slowly.
A child. She was just a child.
Evan's breath caught in his throat as those amber eyes lifted to meet his. For one suspended moment, everything went still.
Then her expression transformed—confusion giving way to recognition, to something that looked like desperate hope. Her eyes widened, and a sound escaped her that was part sob, part laugh.
"Papa?"
The word hung in the air between them, impossible and world-shattering.
"Wha.."
And before Evan could process what was happening, she was moving, scrambling across the floor with that supernatural speed, throwing her small arms around his neck and holding on like he was the only solid thing in a drowning world.
"Papa, papa, papa," she whispered against his shoulder, her whole body trembling. "You came back. I knew you would come back."
That was the time that really changed everything in his life. Anaya. Right?
* But wait. Anaya? I left her in the woods*
Then sharp pain that made him clear he is not dead. Slowly, his eyes began to open and his first thought was about Anaya. His mind screaming. She was in the woods. All alone. He had to reach there.