JAY'S POV
Morning was… punishment.
Every single one of us sat through assembly like we were paying for crimes committed the night before. Sunglasses. Hoodies pulled too low. Heads bowed—not in prayer, but in regret.
Cin whispered, "If I move my head, I die." Felix groaned, "I hear colors." Blaster swore off alcohol forever. (Liar.)
Keifer and David looked unfairly fine.
Traitors.
By the time Sir Alvin dismissed us for the city tour, Section E moved like a herd of wounded animals—but spirits lifted fast. Last day. No activities. No rules worth respecting.
I took the lead.
Not the dangerous places. Not the past-heavy ones.
Safe spots.
The park first—wide, green, loud with kids and vendors. Familiar in a gentle way. People still recognized me.
"Jay?"
"Is that you?"
"Look how grown she is!"
Smiles. Small waves. Stories.
"That girl used to come here after school." "She once beat three boys in chess right there." "She fed half the stray dogs in this park."
Section E ate it up.
"So you were a menace everywhere," Cin said proudly. "A local legend," Felix added.
I laughed, but my chest felt tight again.
The market was worse.
Vendors calling my name. Old shopkeepers teasing me. A woman hugged me without asking and told the boys I once scared off thieves with nothing but a steel bottle and rage.
Keifer stayed close again.
Not possessive.
Protective.
We started heading back as the sky softened—dawn bleeding into evening, the kind of light that makes everything feel quieter, heavier.
That's when it happened.
We turned into a narrower street.
And stopped.
Three men stood ahead of us.
Huge. Tall. Built like walls.
Muscles stretching against black shirts. Thick necks. Cold eyes. The kind of men who don't loiter unless they mean to.
The street behind us felt suddenly very far away.
Cin muttered, "Uh… Jay?" Felix whispered, "Please tell me these are fans."
They weren't smiling.
One of them stepped forward.
Slow. Deliberate.
And looked straight at me.
"Well," he said, voice rough, amused.
"Look who's back."
My blood went ice-cold.
Keifer shifted instantly—subtle but lethal—stepping half a pace in front of me without blocking my view.
"Keep walking," the man said, eyes never leaving mine.
"Boss wants a word."
My heart slammed.
Not here. Not now.
I lifted my chin. "Tell your boss I'm not interested."
The second man laughed. "You don't get to say no anymore."
Section E went silent.
Keifer's hand brushed mine—question, not command.
I answered without looking at him.
"Don't," I said quietly.
The third man cracked his knuckles.
"You really should," he said. "He doesn't like being ignored."
I took one step forward.
Keifer's jaw tightened.
"I don't belong to anyone anymore," I said, voice steady even as everything inside me screamed. "Move."
The first man smiled wider.
"Oh," he said.
"He's going to love hearing that."
And for the first time since this trip began—
I knew the past hadn't just found me.
It had been waiting.
The street felt smaller.
Not physically—but like the air itself had learned how to close in.
Keifer stepped fully in front of me this time.
Not dramatic. Not aggressive.
Just… final.
"You heard her," he said calmly. "Move."
The first guy's eyes slid to him slowly, like he was appraising furniture.
"And you are?" he asked.
Keifer didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
David shifted to Keifer's other side. Quiet. Solid. Cin, Blaster, Rory—everyone behind us straightened without being told. Hungover or not, Section E knew how to read danger.
I exhaled through my nose.
This was getting bad.
Fast.
"I said no," I repeated, sharper now. "You want to talk—send a message like a normal person."
The man chuckled. "You are the message."
That did it.
Keifer's hand flexed.
I stepped forward before instinct turned into violence.
"Enough," I snapped. "What does he want?"
The man's smile thinned. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
"That you don't disappear," he said. "That Arch doesn't forget its own."
My chest tightened.
I forced myself not to react.
"I left," I said. "Clean. You know that."
"Boss doesn't see it that way."
Of course he didn't.
Behind me, Felix whispered, "Jay… who are these people?"
I didn't look back.
"People who don't matter anymore," I said.
The second man scoffed. "You hear that? We don't matter."
The third stepped closer—too close.
Keifer moved instantly.
One hand out. Palm flat against the man's chest.
Not a shove.
A warning.
"Back up," he said quietly.
The man looked down at the hand. Then up at Keifer's face.
Something changed.
Recognition.
Not fear—but calculation.
"…Watson," he said slowly.
Keifer didn't blink.
"Ah," the man breathed, grinning now. "That explains the confidence."
My stomach dropped.
No.
I grabbed Keifer's wrist. "Keifer."
His jaw tightened—but he didn't move.
"You picked interesting company," the first man said to me. "Boss will like that."
"He won't get the chance," I said coldly.
A voice cut in.
Sharp. Authoritative.
"That's enough."
All three men froze.
Sir Alvin stepped into view from the side street, phone still pressed to his ear. Aries right behind him. Two local officers not far off—alert, watching.
Sir Alvin's gaze flicked over the scene once.
And landed on me.
"Jay," he said evenly. "You alright?"
"Yes," I answered immediately.
The first man sighed dramatically. "Always the timing."
He looked at me one last time. "This isn't over."
I met his eyes. "It is."
He smiled like he didn't believe me.
Then he stepped back.
All three of them did.
They melted into the street like they'd never been there at all.
Silence crashed down.
Felix exhaled loudly. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT."
Cin swore. Blaster muttered something about gym memberships and dying young.
Sir Alvin turned to me. "You want to explain?"
I shook my head once. "Later."
He studied my face, then nodded. "Bus. Now."
As everyone started moving again, Keifer leaned down slightly, voice low.
"You okay?"
I nodded.
Then—quietly—"Thank you."
His hand brushed mine once.
"You don't have to face them alone anymore," he said.
I looked up at him.
And for the first time since those men appeared—
I believed it.
As the bus doors closed behind us and the engine roared to life, the town blurred past the windows.
Familiar streets. Old ghosts.
But Section E filled the seats with noise again. Complaints. Jokes. Plans for home.
Life.
And as the city faded behind us, I pressed my forehead briefly to the cool glass—
Knowing one thing for sure.
The past had tried to corner me.
And failed.
Home didn't feel like home.
It felt… unfinished.
Section E slipped back into routine like the trip never cracked anything open. Classes. Noise. Chaos. Laughter that pretended nothing had happened on that street.
No one asked.
Not Cin.
Not Felix.
Not even Sir Alvin.
And I didn't tell.
But one absence screamed louder than questions ever could.
Keifer.
Monday—his seat was empty.
Tuesday—still empty.
By Wednesday, the quiet where he should've been felt wrong.
I texted.
You alive?
You skipping or kidnapped?
Keifer, don't be funny.
No reply.
I called.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
A knot formed in my chest, tight and irrational and ugly.
By Thursday, I cornered Damian near the lockers.
"Find him," I said. No jokes. No sarcasm. "Please."
Damian took one look at my face and nodded. "On it."
Two days later, he came back empty-handed.
"No socials. No location pings. His family's tight-lipped. It's like he… vanished."
My stomach dropped.
That word again.
Vanished.
I laughed it off in front of everyone. Made some dumb comment about Keifer probably on a secret training arc or joining the military without telling us.
But that night—
Alone in my condo, lights off, city humming outside—
The silence pressed in.
Too familiar.
I was halfway through convincing myself I was overreacting when—
Ding.
The doorbell rang.
Sharp. Sudden.
My heart jumped straight into my throat.
I didn't check the camera.
I didn't think.
I just opened the door.
Keifer stood there.
Hair messier than usual. Dark circles under his eyes. Hoodie creased like he'd slept in it for days. A faint bruise along his jaw he hadn't bothered to hide.
Tired.
Worn.
But smiling.
Not the polite one.
The real one.
The air left my lungs in one rush.
Before I could say his name, before logic or pride or anger could catch up—
He stepped forward.
And I walked straight into him.
His arms wrapped around me instantly, tight and sure, like he'd been holding himself together just to do that one thing.
I buried my face into his chest.
He smelled like rain and travel and exhaustion.
"I tried calling you," I said into his hoodie, voice breaking despite myself. "You disappeared.I couldn't find you. I thought—"
"I know," he murmured, pressing his cheek to my hair. "I'm sorry."
I pulled back just enough to look at him.
"Don't do that," I said. "Don't vanish on me."
His smile faded—not completely, but enough.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
"Then what did you mean to do?" I asked.
He exhaled slowly.
"Make sure you were safe."
My chest tightened.
"From what?" I whispered.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he rested his forehead against mine, eyes closing briefly like the weight of the week finally caught him.
"Keifer tell me?" I whispered.
He didn't answer.
Not because he couldn't—but because he wouldn't.
His forehead stayed pressed to mine, breath warm, uneven. I felt it then—the restraint. The careful way he was holding himself, like every word was being weighed before it could escape.
"Family stuff,So I as to go to London,sorry I couldn't tell you..." he said finally. Quiet. Firm. Closed.
I searched his face.
"That's it?" I asked.
"For now," he replied.
There it was.
A boundary.
Not a wall—but a door he was keeping shut with his own back pressed against it.
I didn't push.
I knew that look. I'd worn it myself.
"You look like hell," I said instead, softer now.
That earned me a faint smile. "Missed you too."
I huffed a weak laugh and shoved his shoulder lightly. "You're an idiot."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But I came back."
That—that mattered more than any explanation.
I stepped aside to let him in. He kicked the door shut behind us without looking, like he already knew the place. Like he belonged here. He dropped his bag by the wall and stood there for a second, just… breathing.
Then he swayed.
Barely noticeable. But I noticed.
"Sit," I ordered, grabbing his wrist.
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, letting me guide him to the couch.
He sank into it like gravity had finally remembered him.
I crouched in front of him before he could say anything stupid.
"You didn't eat," I accused.
"I did," he said.
"When?"
He blinked. "…Yesterday?"
I rolled my eyes and stood. "Don't move."
I shoved food into his hands minutes later—nothing fancy, just warm and real. He ate like someone who hadn't had a proper meal in days, slow but grateful, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
I leaned against the counter, watching him.
The bruise on his jaw was faint but unmistakable.
"Keifer," I said quietly.
He froze for half a second.
Then looked up. "It's nothing."
I didn't argue.
Instead, I crossed the room and sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders touched.
"You don't have to tell me," I said. "Not if you're not ready."
His fingers tightened around the container.
"But," I continued, voice steady, "you don't get to disappear like that again. Not without a word."
He nodded immediately. "I won't."
I turned to face him. "Promise."
"I promise."
Something in his voice made it stick.
The tension finally drained from him then, all at once. His shoulders sagged. His head tipped slightly—toward me.
Without thinking, I shifted closer.
He followed.
Careful. Slow.
Like he was afraid I'd pull away.
Instead, I wrapped my arms around him.
He exhaled—deep, shaky—and leaned fully into it, resting his forehead against my shoulder this time. His hand curled into the fabric of my sleeve, grip firm, grounding.
"Stay," I murmured.
"I am," he said immediately. "I'm not going anywhere."
We stayed like that for a long time.
No explanations. No confessions. Just the quiet proof that he'd come back.
And whatever storm had dragged him away—
Tonight, at least—
It hadn't taken him from me...