Three years after my boyfriend died in the line of duty, I saw his name on a wedding invitation. He was the groom. The bride was the intern I had personally trained. She clung to his arm, her smile syrupy sweet. "Skye, can you believe it? It's all thanks to me digging him out of that border-town scrap heap back then. I heard some other woman was clinging to him before, almost got him killed on that mission." She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Isn't it fate, Skye? Don't you think we're just meant to be?" 1 Chloe prattled on, her voice a buzzing insect in my ear, but I couldn't process a single word. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights, I had risked my life searching for the man I loved. I never found a body, but here he was, the groom of the rookie I’d mentored. "Skye?" Chloe’s face swam into my vision, her brow furrowed with mock concern. "You're so pale. Are you feeling alright?" I violently shook her hand off me, my body trembling. I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp pain the only thing keeping the rage from boiling over. For three years, I had put my entire life on the line. I’d dodged bullets on the border, crawled through rainforests teeming with snakes and vipers, and sifted through the dirt of mass graves filled with nameless bodies. Even his own family had given up, but I refused. I held onto a single, desperate creed: I would find him, dead or alive. Aiden. The ace of the Major Crimes Unit. My partner. My love. Three years ago, during a top-secret cross-border operation, the target detonated a chemical plant. The final report was six cold, clinical words: Aiden. Killed in action. Body unrecoverable. I never believed it. And now I knew why. He was alive. And he was marrying Chloe. There he stood at the end of the aisle in a tailored tuxedo, waiting to take my protégée's hand. "Skye, you have to move on," Chloe said with a sigh. "It's all in the past. Look at me, I found Aiden, didn't I? You need to let go, find a nice guy…" Before she could finish, the dressing room door swung open. Aiden walked in. The air in the room turned to ice. He was still as tall and imposing as I remembered, his suit perfectly fitted. He looked exactly the same as he had three years ago. Except for his eyes. The eyes that once held only me now swept over my face with chilling indifference. He walked straight to Chloe, his hands moving with practiced ease to adjust her veil. Behind him were his groomsmen—our old squad mates. The moment they saw me, their gazes darted away, faces twitching, a silent chorus of oh shit, we are so screwed written all over them. If I'd been clinging to some fragile hope that he had amnesia, the looks on their faces were a brutal slap to the face, shattering that delusion. He hadn't forgotten. He just… didn't want me anymore. "Honey," Chloe cooed, her eyes sparkling up at him. "Tell Mark and the guys not to leave too early tonight. We need to celebrate properly!" She shot me a triumphant little glance. Aiden grunted in agreement, his gaze fixed on Chloe's face, not sparing me another crumb of attention. It was as if we were complete strangers. A giant, invisible hand clenched around my heart, squeezing until it felt like it would tear apart. I stumbled into the restroom, sliding down the cool, tiled wall, the chill doing nothing to numb the searing pain inside. "Aiden…" A choked sob escaped my lips as the agony crested. "You son of a bitch… how could you?" 2 I could faintly hear Mark’s hushed, urgent voice from outside. "Aiden, are you sure about this? Skye, she…" Aiden's reply was clipped and cold. "She's a loose end. A liability. When a mission is over, you make a clean cut. Do I need to teach you that?" "…" The ceremony began. Chloe, "understanding" of my emotional state, had someone else take my place as a bridesmaid. I retreated to the darkest corner of the reception hall, a ghost at the feast. I watched as Aiden knelt on one knee, watched him slide a ring onto Chloe's finger. A violent impulse surged through me. I wanted to storm up there, to tear this whole sham wedding apart. To scream at Chloe for stealing my life, to grab Aiden by his collar and demand to know where the hell he'd been for three years. To ask them all why they had conspired to make a fool out of me. But I didn't. I just sat there, frozen in my corner. Then, as the officiant declared, "You may now kiss the bride," I started to clap. I clapped the loudest, my sharp applause turning heads. I ignored them, my eyes locked on Aiden as his gaze finally found mine. I stretched my lips into a wide, grotesque smile, but tears I couldn't control streamed down my face, scalding hot. His pupils contracted for a fraction of a second before his expression shuttered again, the brief flicker of emotion buried under a glacier of cold indifference. My nails bit deeper into my palms. I think I’m going insane, I thought. I pulled out my phone and typed him a message. [Aiden, I don’t wish you happiness. I wish you a lifetime of wanting what you can't have, of love and loss.] The "message sent" notification chimed, and I felt like a complete idiot. His love was right there beside him. What good was my curse? I left before the toasts, before I had to watch them parade their happiness from table to table. If I stayed a second longer, I was afraid I might actually draw my weapon. Over a year ago, the last faint trail leading to him had gone cold in a dusty border town. I’d returned to the safe house that was once ours, a place that still smelled of old gunpowder and shared memories. Staring into a cracked bathroom mirror, I took a knife to my wrist. It was the old beat cop from downstairs who noticed something was wrong and kicked the door in. When I woke up in the hospital, the Chief was holding my hand, his eyes red-rimmed. "Skye, you have to live for him! You have to put away all the bastards he never got to!" Live for him? A world without Aiden was just a suffocating, bitter darkness. We were everything to each other: childhood friends, partners on the force, lovers who had faced death together. We were one step away from getting married—the transfer papers were filed, all we needed was the final approval. Then came the cross-border operation. The world-shattering explosion. I became a madwoman, combing every inch of the borderlands. I interrogated drug runners, squeezed informants, and questioned every living soul near the blast site. They all shook their heads. No one had seen him. And now here he was, back from the dead, in a groom's tuxedo, with his arms around someone else. 3 I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep, only to be jolted awake by the frantic buzzing of my phone. Dozens of missed calls, all from Chloe. There was also a voice message from the Chief, his voice weary. "Skye, come back. The unit needs you." I scrolled down and saw a single, stark message. One word: [Vanish.] I stared at that word for a long time, and then a harsh, broken laugh escaped my lips. All my devotion, all my desperate hope—it was nothing more than a joke to him. My gaze fell to my chest. A rough, hand-carved wooden charm hung there, cracked with age. I never took it off. The night before his final mission, he had climbed through my window, smelling of dew and the night air, and placed it around my neck. "Got it from a chapel, had it blessed," he’d said, his grin genuine, the tips of his ears bright red. "For protection. Keep it on. Don't ever take it off." I found out later the "chapel" was a crumbling ruin on the other side of the border, abandoned for decades. He’d almost gotten himself shot as an illegal border-crosser just for that stupid piece of wood, which was rumored to bind lovers together. My eyes burned. With a single, sharp tug, I ripped the charm from my neck. I walked to the window and threw it into the dumpster below. Aiden, from this day forward, you go your way, and I'll go mine. After a storm of gut-wrenching sobs, clarity finally broke through. I called the Chief. "Chief, I'm back. Requesting reassignment to active duty." "You've made up your mind?" "Yes. I'll wrap up my cold cases and be there in seven days. The flight is booked." That day would be the anniversary of the day we first met. Where it began is where it will end. For the next seven days, I became a hermit. I left the house only to handle my transfer paperwork, seeing no one. My phone was on airplane mode. On the seventh day, a thunderous knock echoed through my apartment. Chloe stood on my doorstep, with Aiden silent and brooding behind her. "Skye!" Chloe lunged for a hug, but I sidestepped her. She didn't seem to mind. "You scared me to death! You weren't answering your phone, and no one was home! I thought you'd… you know…" She trailed off, her eyes flicking meaningfully toward my wrist. "I'm fine," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "We're here to get you!" Chloe announced, all bright energy. "It's your birthday! Did you forget? We're throwing you a surprise party tonight! And I'm going to introduce you to some of the hot new guys from the precinct! Don't even think about saying no!" She spoke with an easy, commanding familiarity, as if my compliance was a given. She was so sunny, so warm and full of life. I could see why Aiden would fall for her. My eyes drifted to the man standing behind her. His gaze was glacial, his dark eyes frozen over, looking at me as if I were a complete stranger. As if possessed by some demon, I stepped aside and let them in. This safe house had been requisitioned for two. After Aiden disappeared, I had stubbornly stayed, keeping everything just the way he liked it. Chloe wrinkled her nose dramatically as she entered. "Wow, Skye, your place is… interesting. It looks like a command post. So cold, not a single homey touch." "Mm," I replied softly. "My ex liked it this way. When we lived together, I decorated according to his tastes."
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