Chapter 1
He shouldn’t still be alive.
Not after the fifth shot shattered concrete inches from his face or the blood that had soaked through his vest and run down his ribs, which was pooling at his waistband. Not even after he had seen two of his own go down without a fight.
And yet, Shade kept moving because he knew that stopping now would be worse than dying.
The alley behind him burned orange with flame, the echo of a grenade he should’ve ducked, should’ve accounted for.
This wasn’t a mission anymore. It was a slow-motion execution.
He should’ve fallen back. He’d known it ten minutes ago when Zorro’s voice crackled in his earpiece like lightning off a wire.
“They’re circling, Shade. Pull out. You’re walking into a crossfire—do you copy? DO YOU COPY?”
He copied.
He just didn’t care.
This was always going to be a one-way op. The intel was bad, the perimeter too wide, the exile window already closed before he’d breached the outer wall. The suicide wrapped in orders.
But Shade walked into it anyway.
He moved like a panther stalking its prey, silent despite the weight of his gear.
Dust hung in the air like fog. His sweat burned his eyes, and the ash around him clung to his jaw.
Someone stepped out from behind a rusted-out truck, a silhouette in the chaos.
Without hesitation, Shade raised his weapon and fired three quick shots, and the man dropped.
He didn’t stop to look.
He already had two bullets inside of him, one was high on his thigh, and the other sat right underneath his ribs. Both of them burned with every motion. His left leg dragged half a second slower than it should. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Despite all this he kept going.
He had nothing to lose.
But he knew the layout of this neighbourhood. Knew he could make it four more blocks, maybe five, before the choke point.
This was his life. Dust that clung to his skin like a second uniform. Smoke that swallowed the horizon. Masks that hid faces, and shadows that concealed death. He crossed barren deserts never knowing which step would be his last, fighting for a cause that had long since lost its meaning, searching only for something, anything, that made him feel alive.
And pain he’d never learned to name or stopped long enough to think about.
“Shade, goddamn it, fall back. That’s an order!” Zorro’s voice crackled through his earpiece.
Static. Shouting. Gunfire. The pop-pop-pop of suppressed rounds echoing down narrow alleyways.
But Shade didn’t answer. He just kept going.
The same thought haunted him after every mission.
There was nothing waiting for him beyond the battlefield.
That was what made him valuable. Men with families hesitated. Men with dreams calculated. Shade did neither. Command knew he would step into impossible odds without a second thought because there was nothing on the other side of the mission calling him home.
Somehow, he always survived.
There was something wrong about the night. The streets of Nahrin were empty, but it never felt abandoned.
Blood ran down the side of his face from a gash above his eyebrow. It mixed with sweat, salt, and smoke. His boots crunched over shattered glass, every step slower than the last.
He was fading, he knew it, and if he was smart, he would fall back.
“Shade. Please—” There was real fear in his voice.
Shade’s hand clenched tighter around his weapon. His fingers were numb. He didn’t care.
Two enemies appeared at the corner. He dropped to a knee and let instinct take over. Two shots, clean through the skull. They crumpled like dolls. But even that didn’t feel like a victory.
Pain flared in his side.
The third round found him, high in the ribs. His body twisted from the impact.
Another shot slammed into his thigh.
Then everything was a blur.
He staggered back, knees buckling, pain flaring like lightning across his side. Then forward again, against instinct, against gravity, and the edge of the rooftop came up too fast.
Then came the sound. A high-pitched screech tore through his earpiece, the line to Zorro had gone haywire. His name might have been shouting in there somewhere, but Shade couldn’t tell.
His vision doubled, then blurred. The sky fractured into smoke and broken power lines.
Blood welled in his mouth, hot and metallic.
He coughed, and it sprayed down his chin. His hand twitched. The weapon slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.
His limbs stopped responding, and everything was slowly starting to go numb. Like they didn’t belong to him anymore, halfway gone.
The pain dulled. His heartbeat slowed.
He’d expected death for years. It was almost strange that it had taken this long to find him. With one slow breath, he closed his eyes.
And then…
Jasmine.
The scent caught him off guard. It didn’t belong here, not among the smoke and burning concrete.
A laugh carried somewhere ahead, it was so soft, his eyes flickered open.
There was a sound of bare feet running along the concrete. He turned his head, and someone appeared. She was wearing a simple white dress that swayed gently around her knees. She walked barefoot over broken glass and scorched asphalt like it meant nothing.
Her face… He couldn’t see it, but her dark hair moved in slow motion, lifted by wind that wasn’t there.
But he could feel her smile and the laughter coming from her. It warmed him, he closed his eyes. It felt as if he was in a warm bed on a rainy day.
But then she stopped laughing. He opened his eyes, his ears rang with silent static. He frowned as if someone had stolen something from him and he didn’t know how to get it back.
Then she said his name.
Not Shade. His real name. The one almost no one knew anymore.
He froze.
She spoke it as though she had known him all her life, as though she were trying to pull him back.
He stared through the smoke, but she was gone.
Only the faint scent of jasmine remained.
His vision blurred. His heart was still beating. He was still breathing. Yet the battlefield felt emptier than it had moments before.
Then reality crashed back. The gunfire, shouting, and the sharpness of his pain were back.
Before he could close his eyes, there were hands on him. He heard shouting and boots crunching. This was it, wasn’t it, he thought.
“I’ve got him! God, he’s alive”
A needle jabbed his neck. Cold fluid spread through his veins.
There were blurry shapes, outlines of helmets and tactical gear. His mind was racing but his body betrayed him. He tried to get out of their hold.
“Relax, Shade, we got you now,” they yelled. The patch on Zorro’s arm. Gunfire in the distance.
He was being dragged out. The rescue team was here, and he was being saved.
And for the first time, Shade felt afraid.
Not of dying. But of living.
Because whoever the girl in white was, she smelled like jasmine and he felt this overwhelming fear of missing something he couldn’t name.
And he was pretty sure this was the first thing he’d ever wanted to live for. He was going to find the jasmine-scented woman even if it tore him to pieces.
