Page 6 of Ashfall
nyx
PRESENT DAY
My body bolts up right, a cold sweat soaking my oversized t-shirt. Turmoil races through me. For a moment, I don’t recognize my surroundings, my mind still escaping the grip the dream has on me, battling its way through to reality. But then my eyes adjust in the darkness, and the truth settles over me like a weighted blanket. Shaking, I pull the covers up to my chin, dragging in deep breaths to steady my breathing and racing heart. A sob threatens to break itself free from my throat, trapped as the fragments of the nightmare still linger behind my eyes.
I haven't dreamt of that moment in so long. I thought the walls I built were solid enough to protect me in my sleep, an impenetrable barricade in my mind. Revisiting it is too painful. But now, the possibility that Noc survived is shaking those defenses, tearing down the smoke and mirrors I once mistook for strength. It makes me want to avoid sleeping again. At least when I’m awake, I can hold the fortress.
This place, along with my recent discovery, is slowly wearing me down. For six merciless months, I was haunted by that day. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind retraced the steps. From the moment I was called in to help, right up until the unyieldingspray of bullets echoed down the cliff’s edge, haunting me whether I was awake or asleep. It’s why I pushed myself so much afterward, I'd drive my body to exhaustion, believing that if I pushed hard enough, sleep would finally be dreamless. I lay back down, but I already know I’m not getting to sleep. If history has taught me anything, they'll come right back. I grab my phone from the bedside and check the time - 0400 hours. Admitting defeat, I get up, grab a towel, and head to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
I push open the door and almost jump out of my skin, my poor heart clutching to anything that might keep it from completely combusting after the number of jump-starts it's endured these past few days. “Blitz, what the hell are you up to?” I whisper-yell. She’s sprawled on her back, half-buried beneath the sink, rummaging through whatever mess lurks underneath. All I can see are her legs - but I knew it had to be her. Those bright yellow fluffy pajamas? Her signature sleepwear. “Good morning, Nyx. Early riser today I see?” her voice strained as she cranes her neck to look at me.
I huff out a laugh, removing my hand from my chest once I’m confident the vital organ won’t fall out. “Why are you dismantling a cabinet at 0400 hours?”
She dips her head back beneath the boards. “Just checking the structure. Who knows what kind of idiots they hired to slap this base together? I doubt it meets Class A standards. These sink installations barely scrape a C. Honestly, if there were a lower grade, they’d be the prime example. ” She launches into a full-on rant. Blitz specializes in breaches and explosives, but thanks to her family’s commercial construction business, she also has a sharp eye for structural integrity. Everywhere we go, she’s knocking on doors, tugging at random wood pieces, scanning the surroundings. Always assessing the stability of a place before declaring it ‘clear.’
I scoff, dragging a hand up over my face and through my hair. "I'm heading for a shower - can I assume you've inspected them all and are satisfied? Please, for the love of God, don’t come in while I’m naked with your damn spirit level." It wouldn't be the first time Blitz decided she wanted to check a shower room out whilst I was still inside. "Checked them last night," her voice strains again with the angle of her head. "Satisfied would be a loose term, if I’m honest. You see that one—" I cut her off. "Thank you, Lord Foster, but I've had minimal sleep and no coffee. My brain isn’t equipped to process whatever structural analysis is about to come out of your mouth."
I step over her, heading for the farthest shower - well out of her inspection zone - and turn on the water. She barks out a laugh. "Lord Foster. You’ve made my morning, Nyx." The only reason I know who he is, is because Blitz droned on about him one night when we were drunk, most people would have looked at us and seen two innocent girls having a deep heart to heart. No. She was telling me about how Lord Foster was a famous English architect and showing me some of his modern designs. My intense stare wasn’t through interest; it was so that I wouldn’t slide off my chair whilst the room around her spun in circles after she roped me into taking tequila shots. She thankfully doesn’t launch any more rants and gets back to work, sliding the panel back onto the sink counter. I don’t even want to know how she managed to pry it off without tools.
I step out of the shower, noticing Blitz is gone, no doubt off to torment someone with her latest findings. But the spirit level laying at my feet makes me laugh at the taunt, I would have knocked her out if she followed through. I head back and get myself ready for the day, shoving my long, straight hair into a tight high ponytail. My mother had poker-straight hair. It’s one of the things I sometimes wished she hadn’t passed down, because looking in the mirror right now, she’s all I see staringback at me, I’m a carbon copy. And there it is again, my heart feels heavier again. I’m hoping there’s a makeshift recreation center here. Or at least one of the guys willing to practice close combat with me. I need to get this coiling tension out of my body.
Making my way to the open seating area I’ve yet to explore, hoping there’s something other than ready-to-eat meals available, and something to feed my caffeine-starved veins. The rest of 616 - still minus Blitz - are sprawled across the camping sofas and chairs. “Sup, Nyx. Made a pot of coffee if you want it. Though, fair warning, it tastes like crap.” The sigh that comes from my toes into the open space is loud. This morning is already shaping up to be shit.
Grabbing a mug, I pour one anyway. I head over to sit where Adam is sprawled out between a chair and a coffee table, typing quietly on his laptop with his feet up. He glances at me over the rim of his screen, offering a subtle nod. He must be digging around for more information, judging by the way he's huddled close to the screen. I sweep my gaze over the room, ensuring no one’s watching. Once I’m confident they’re not, I relax - slightly. Great. There’s the paranoia creeping in already, and we don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet.
Graves steps into the room, locking eyes with me. He narrows his gaze but then gives me a familiar smile before heading over to make himself a cup of coffee. The moment he takes a sip, he grimaces. “Who the heck made this? Tastes like crap.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip to stop my smile, nudging Adam's knee, and feel him slide deeper into his chair. Graves moves around the small kitchen, knocking about while brewing a fresh pot. Hawk strides in to complete the group gathering.
“Good morning, devils!” he chirps. Phantom lets out a long, suffering sigh before sinking further into the space he’s claimedas his own. “Could you guys BE any louder?” The smile breaks free this time, and I allow it. He is not a morning person, and I’m in need of entertainment. Hawk heads over and grabs a cup of coffee, he too screws his face up “Ugh, that tastes like shit.” Graves stops in his tracks, head swiveling in his direction and shoots him a death stare, his back straightening in offence as he mumbles to himself “tastes better than the previous lot.”
Swiftly shaking off the insult, he gets straight down to business. “Since we're all here, Hawk, give them the brief." He leans back against the table behind Phantom, who looks in no mood to relinquish his claimed space on the foldable sofa to let him sit. “We’ve had an update from 656. They picked up communications fifteen kilometers west of the exchange we overwatched. Tracked them leaving a site where all but one car followed.” I stiffen. wanting to glance at Adam, but I can feel him turning to stone at the same moment I do. Was it Noc’s car that split off?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if they managed to track it, but Hawk goes on. “We believe we've now uncovered the area of their main hideout.” If we’re going to investigate this ourselves, we can’t say a damn word about my knowing the primary is Noc. And just as I process that thought, it's like Phantom hears the voice in my head. “Do we have any intel on the primary?” Oh god. My palms start to sweat, I make a point of brushing my hand over my chin, just to make sure my mouth isn’t hanging open.
Before Hawk has a chance to answer, Graves cuts in. “Negative. He’s not known to us.” I frown, quickly recovering - but not before I catch the slight side-eye Hawk shoots him. Weird. “Not yet, anyway.” There’s a sly smile on Hawks face. “He is quite the shadow. We haven’t been able to find anything on him. Intel is running some checks, of course.” The fact he's referred to him as a shadow, I know that it's 100% Noc. There'sno doubt in my mind now, he always did blend in with the darkness. A phone rings, and Graves excuses himself, marching down the hallway to take it.
Hawk shifts, taking a seat next to Phantom, who has no choice but to move before his legs get stuck under Hawk’s weight. “656 have been in deep cover these last few weeks, they've seen the logo before and have sent over what they have. The cyber team managed to review the images and clear them up, they also confirmed the partial image we had was a match.” Hawk grabs the tablet, swipes his finger across the screen a few times, then turns the enlarged image toward us.
Strange, why does it look familiar? A bird with its wings spread wide, but more like its skeletal remains, with tattered black feathers, charcoaled bones, and a single glowing red eye where its head turns to the right. “It’s nice to know the bad guys have time for arts and crafts,” Blitz’s voice carries from behind me in the kitchen. I swear, that girl should really have ‘stealth expert’ added to her résumé.
Hawk smirks at her while he's swiping away the image. “Our guys haven’t found any traces of what it’s linked to. But we believe it could be a play on the U.S. Army sigil.” He pulls up the official military logo, placing it side by side with the skeletal bird. “What the hell?” Blitz whispers over my head, leaning in closer as I feel her hand on my shoulder, leaning over me as we both take a closer look.
The designs are identical, but reversed. The newer one is twisted, burned, and demonic. The red eye alone screams evilness. Its head is also facing to the right, instead of left. “That’s definitely a blatant mockery now that I see it,” I murmur, my curiosity getting the better of me. “A threat?” I don’t know what Noc is involved in, but a shiver racks over me, like a cold finger drawing over the top of my spine. “I believe it very wellcould be, Nyx,” he says, sighing before locking the tablet and leaning back into a lounging position, arms folded.
Adam speaks up. “So, what are we doing with this?” Hawk bites the inside of his cheek, looking over at the corridor before speaking “Nothing right now. Intelligence is still working things in the background, and 656 will monitor the area for the next couple of weeks. Tracking activity and routines before we go in ourselves.” Fantastic. Two weeks stuck at this construction site of a base. And as if Hawk can hear my thoughts - am I speaking aloud today without realizing it? “I’ve planned a day of training for us all. No rest for the wicked, devils. See you all at 1300.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
nyx
FOUR YEARS AGO
Iwatch him get dressed.God help me. This simple act alone is tempting enough to make me ask for another round. I need to get a grip. The way he made love to me has left my entire body tingling, electrified from head to toe. I know I’ll never forget this moment for as long as I live. And it stirs that urge in me again, the need to tell him that I love him. God, like I didn’t fight it a hundred times during, biting my lip just to stop myself from uttering those words. I found myself saying his real name in its place, evoking a wicked and knowing smile every time I did. Like he could read every thought in my head. Like he knew what I really wanted to say.
Get it together, Brodie. I chant the mantra in my head as I force myself to steady my trembling hands. The movements make me struggle to tie the laces of my boots, like every muscle in my body has been worn thin by the experience. Without a word, Noc reaches out, his large, tatted hands covering mine before he effortlessly finishes the task for me. It makes me wonder, was he affected by this as much as I was? Or is he simply better at hiding it? When he stands, the answer is clear. The soldier is back. The man the rest of the world sees. His emotions are locked down, as he is already steeling himself for theunknown that lies ahead. And I understand it, I do. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, caught up in the moment – but reality started to bleed in the minute we broke apart. He’s about to step into a deadly mission, back to the place of his fathers origin, a place that holds a mixture of bitter love and unforgivable loss.
We lock eyes, but there’s none of our usual amusement. No playful battle where one of us eventually caves, followed by laughter and tangled limbs until morning. This time, his features are tense, his eyes carrying a conflict deeper than words can express. “Noc?” I say softly, reaching my hand out, but he stops me. My chest tightens. I know he doesn’t mean it. This mission is weighing on him, and with it, the emotional toll of returning to his father’s homeland. I tell myself that's it and I try to believe it. He looks like he’s about to say something - something important - but then his pager goes off.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging it out to check. Another pained look. A frustrated hand shoving through his already ruffled hair. His jaw muscles grinding as he reads the message, then shoves the pager back onto his belt, and it seals away whatever he was about to say. “The task force has been called to leave earlier than expected - there’s been movement,” he deadpans. My breath catches, but I force myself to clear my throat. “Okay… how long do you have?” I fight to keep my voice steady, barely stopping it from breaking. “Two hours.” Shit. My eyes burn, threatening to well up. No, Brodie - get a grip. You’re stronger than this.
