Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining; raindrops kept falling as if heaven itself was crying, but Alex didn't notice this at all. He just kept staring at Nigel's body. Alex couldn’t believe it; if he did, it would make it real, and that was a reality he couldn't live in or accept. It would mean that he was left all alone for the rest of his life.

Alex now understood what Nigel had tried to tell him all this time.But Nigel pulled the trigger.

He is dead, Dead, DEAD!!

Alex fell hard on his knees, the cold, wet concrete soaking through his jeans. He crawled slowly toward Nigel, afraid of the reality, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the rain in the air. He held Nigel's cold, lifeless body in his arms tightly. Looking down at Nigel's damaged face and all the blood surrounding his head, Alex felt tears streaming down his face. He wished with everything that Nigel was alive and all of this was just a nightmare. To at least get another chance, to save Nigel, to get him back, anything but being all alone for the rest of his life. Every heartbeat screamed that it was real, but his mind refused to accept it. He wanted to scream, to shake the world, to rewind time.

He could feel the chill of Nigel's blood seeping into his clothes, the sticky warmth clinging to his hands. The steady patter of rain was drowned out by his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears like a drum of doom. Flashes of memory struck him suddenly.Nigel laughing on the school steps, the way his hair fell over his eyes when he was concentrating, the small, careless smiles they shared when no one was watching.

Each memory was a dagger, twisting inside him. He thought about Nigel's last moment, the despair clouding his face, trying to explain to Alex.

He lifted his head to the sky and screamed as loud as he could, "Give him back, GIVE HIM BACK!" "Let me have another chance, please." "I will do anything, I will give anything just to have him back". He screamed for what felt like hours, all in vain.

In the end, Nigel stayed dead.

Alex just kept holding Nigel in his arms till the train station workers surrendered them and pried him away from Nigel. The train station workers grabbed at him, and he fought with animal desperation. "Let me go!" he shouted, but the sound of his own voice barely reached him through the storm raging in his head. Anytime they tried to take him away, he just launched for Nigel again and again until he was too exhausted to fight back.

The station smelled of wet concrete and iron, mixed with the sharp tang of rain on metal. Travelers and workers gave him strange looks, some whispering, others avoiding his gaze. The echoes of footsteps and train whistles seemed to mock his grief, emphasizing the emptiness that had settled in his chest.

They waited for the police to come, and they led him to the police station, separating him from Nigel. They assigned Detective Martin to his case. Who kept interrogating him, demanding he confess to killing Nigel.

In his mind, Alex was already the killer. Alex himself felt that he was the one to be blamed for Nigel's death; had he never rejected him, had he seen and understood before it was too late what Nigel meant to him, then Nigel wouldn't be dead. He felt grief and guilt.

Later, at the police station, Detective Martin’s voice droned on. Alex nodded absentmindedly, feeling guilty, blaming himself. "If only I had understood him sooner…" he thought, tears blurring his vision.

Detective Martin was a tall man with piercing eyes, the kind that seemed to look right through you. His voice was calm, almost soothing at first, but every question carried a weight designed to break you down. "Alex, you need to be honest with me," he would say, leaning close, making Alex feel the full force of his scrutiny. Each pause, each glance, tightened the knot in Alex’s stomach." Alex, I know you killed Nigel, confess," he would then would shout angrily.

After a few days, they brought in a psychologist named Sally. Who kept asking him questions. He told her what he thought she wanted to hear. He told her what happened, everything from the start. Alex watched her carefully, answering selectively, hiding the parts that belonged only to him and Nigel.

He knew some truths were too precious, too painful, to be shared with anyone else. Well, most things anyway. Some things will forever stay between him and Nigel. No one deserved to know about them.

They tried to contact Nigel's parents without success. Later, they found the bodies of the Colibes, and Sally even found the notebook where Nigel had written his thoughts. But she didn't find the red book, nor will she, Aelx made sure of that.

After two weeks, he was proven innocent. He found out later that Nigel was already buried. He also missed his funeral; he won't get to say goodbye to Nigel, he won't ever see his face again, nor will he hear his voice. His graduation from school brought no joy to him; it was just a reminder that Nigel wouldn't be able to graduate from school. Alex then decided to leave Yorkshire, but before that, he cut out Nigel's picture from the newspaper and glued it inside the red book, and packed his things inside Nigel's case.

Alex lingered over Nigel’s picture for a long time, tracing the features with his finger. The act of packing his life into Nigel’s case felt like closing a chapter, but also like carrying the weight of it wherever he went. Each item he touched whispered memories, laughter, and unspoken promises.

His first stop was Scotland. He stayed in a small village for a few months. He worked in a library and lived in a cheap one-bedroom apartment. He started to think about what he will do now. He stood in his bedroom, which had one twin-sized bed, and the mattress was old and lumpy. It also had a small desk and a small wooden brown wardrobe. He sat down on the chair behind the desk and opened a notebook. Alex wrote in detail about all his encounters with Nigel. For he had started to forget small details which Alex found disturbing. He never wants to forget anything about Nigel, not even the smallest details.

The village was quiet, with cobbled streets lined with stone cottages. Library dust hung in the air, mixing with the faint scent of old books. Alex watched villagers pass by the window, their ordinary lives a stark contrast to the chaos in his heart. Each day was predictable, monotonous, but it gave him time to think, reflect, and plan his next move.

In a year, Alex decided to enlist in the army, and he even changed his last name so that his father wouldn't be able to find him. His father was angry about Alex running away and not becoming what his father wanted him to be. As Alex was an adult by now, his father could have done nothing. Alex was walking down the street and looked around, trying to find the government building where he could enlist in the army training.

He saw a black haired man walking in the street and decided to ask him about the direction. “Good morning, sir. Do you know the location of the enlistment office?” Alex asked, his voice steady but his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, trying to mask the nervous energy coursing through him.

The black-haired man glanced up, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as though weighing Alex before he spoke. “The enlistment office? You’re close. Just two streets over. Go past the bakery with the red awning, then left. You can’t miss the flags hanging outside.” He paused, then tilted his head. “You enlisting?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. Today.”

The man studied him a moment longer, then gave a faint smile, almost approving but touched with something Alex couldn’t quite read. “Brave choice. The army changes people.” His tone carried an edge, like a warning. He shifted his coat and continued on his way, disappearing into the crowd before Alex could reply.

Alex thought it was already too late; he had changed so much that he no longer was able to recognize himself. Alex exhaled slowly, glancing down the street where the flags of the enlistment office supposedly fluttered. His father’s anger, his old name, his old life—they all seemed distant now. Each step toward that building was a step toward becoming someone new. With each step, only one thought kept going through his mind. Would Nigel have approved of Alex's choice? Had he chosen correctly, or was it a mistake?

Alex finally reached his destination. Before entering the building, he took in a big breath and tried to calm himself down. He braced himself, held his chin up, and took the step to enter the building. As Alex entered the building, he noticed that a lot of people were hurrying to do their duties.

Alex walked up to the secretary's desk. "Good morning, ma'am. I would like to enlist today. Can you help me, and tell me the steps I need to take to do that?" Alex asked the lady at the desk politely, trying to hide his nervousness.

He must have failed somewhat because the young woman softly smiled at him and instructed. "Here, fill these registration papers," she instructed while handing him a big stack of paper. Alex looked at them in disbelief. Who would have thought that to enlist, you would need to do that much paperwork? "

Then, go past this hall and wait for your turn; some officers from there will handle your application." She said, gesturing toward the hall on their right. Alex took the stack of paper and thanked her. He then slowly filled in all the relevant information.

Then he walked toward the room that the front desk lady directed him to. As she said, there were two officers. One of them frowned and looked at Alex up and down, measuring him up.

The officer with the sharp eyes took the papers from Alex and flipped through them without a word. His frown deepened slightly at the occasional pause, and Alex felt his palms grow damp with sweat. After what felt like forever, the officer finally muttered, “Everything seems in order.” He handed the papers to the second officer, a broader man with a gentler demeanor.

“All right, son,” the second officer said in a steady tone. “Next step is identification. Do you have your documents?”

Alex slid his new identification card across the desk. He’d made sure everything was in place after changing his last name, but even so, he felt his stomach twist. The officer checked the card against the papers, then nodded.

“Follow me.”

They led Alex into a small examination room where a doctor in a white coat waited with a clipboard. “Standard medical evaluation,” the doctor said briskly.

He measured Alex’s height, weight, checked his eyesight, and listened to his heart.

The stethoscope was cold against Alex’s skin, and he had to fight not to flinch. “Fit for service,” the doctor declared after scribbling notes.

Back in the hall, the first officer handed Alex another sheet. “Now the aptitude test. Basic reading, math, and problem-solving. Nothing you can’t handle.”

Alex sat at a long desk with several other recruits, the air thick with tension and the scratching of pens. Questions blurred together, but Alex forced himself to focus, one problem at a time. By the time he set his pen down, his nerves had settled into determination.

When the test was collected, the officer returned with a final paper. “Sign here. This is your official oath of enlistment. Once you put your name down, there’s no turning back.” Alex took the pen. His hand trembled, but he steadied it, drawing his new last name in careful strokes. When he set the pen down, the officer gave a short nod.

“Welcome to the army, Private. Report back here tomorrow at 0600 for transport to basic training.”

And thus Alexander Frobes ceased to exist; now he started his life as Alexander Duggan. The name felt foreign at first, heavy on his tongue, but with each passing day in uniform, it became more and more his own. But the past never stays buried for long.

Chapter Text

The training was grueling. The instructors seemed determined to break the recruits with long marches carrying packs heavier than some of the men themselves, sleepless nights, and drills repeated until muscles screamed for mercy.

Each day began before dawn, with the whistle cutting through the morning fog, and ended long after the sun had disappeared behind the hills. There were moments when Alex almost gave in, when his vision blurred and his legs refused to move. But each time, some stubborn ember inside him pushed back. He had given up his old life, even his name. He refused to give up now. He needed to make himself stronger—so that what had happened to Nigel would never happen again.

“I can do this,” he muttered to himself between gasps of air. “For Nigel. For me. I will survive this. I will be stronger.” His body screamed to stop, but his mind pushed harder, each thought of Nigel’s smile transforming pain into determination.
During one of the obstacle courses, Alex stumbled and fell, scraping his knees. His comrades snickered, but one older soldier, James, helped him up.

“Don’t worry about them,” James said, brushing dirt from Alex’s uniform.

“We all fall. It’s how you get back up that counts.” Alex nodded, grateful. That small act of kindness reminded him that not everyone was against him, and even in this harsh world, there was camaraderie.

Weeks passed, and Alex began to adapt. He mastered drills, learned the routines, and started to build friendships with a few fellow recruits.
At night, lying in the barracks, Alex stared at the ceiling and thought about the path that led him here. He realized that while he could never replace Nigel, he could honor his memory by becoming someone who faced challenges head-on. Each drop of sweat, each sore muscle, was now part of that journey.

During a weekend break, Alex wrote in the red book. The pages were filling with memories of Nigel, sketches, and snippets of conversations.

The ink smeared slightly as his hands shook, a mixture of cold and emotion. He wrote down every detail he remembered, afraid that time would blur the edges of those memories. Sometimes, he paused and whispered Nigel’s name, letting the sound float out the open window into the chilly evening air.

When the time came to specialize, the instructors tested everyone’s strengths. Alex found himself drawn to the rifle range, a quiet focus overtaking him the moment he shouldered the weapon.

Where others grew frustrated at missed shots, Alex’s patience held steady. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat became a steady metronome, and the world seemed to narrow down to the space between the sights and the target. He had a knack not only for precision but for the calculations behind it: distance, wind speed, angle, and even the way humidity seemed to slightly shift the bullet’s path. What came as guesswork to others, he treated like solving an equation.

His instructors noticed. At first, they were skeptical. Alex was quiet, not the brash type who boasted about his skill. But after one session where he split a bullseye from nearly a kilometer away, even the most hardened sergeant could only mutter a low whistle.                   

Word spread slowly at first, whispered in barracks corridors and between mess hall tables: Duggan doesn’t miss.

Specialized sniper training pushed him further than he ever imagined. Days of lying perfectly still in mud and rain, blending into shadows, learning the patience of a hunter.

Nights spent crawling silently through dense brush, listening for the faintest rustle of leaves, tracking imaginary targets, and waiting for the perfect moment to “strike.” His instructors set up simulations in every imaginable environment: forests, rocky hills, abandoned buildings.

Every failure was cataloged, analyzed, and turned into lessons. Alex learned the art of patience, how to anticipate movement, and the subtle body language that betrayed even the most disciplined target.

There were other recruits, too, who tested his patience in different ways. Some were brash, trying to impress the instructors with reckless shots or loud boasts. Alex observed them, noting their habits, and quietly outperformed them without a word. Others tried to pick fights, testing his temper or challenging him during exercises. Alex had learned to master himself, letting the challenges slide while remaining sharp, calm, and calculated, just like Nigel was.

By the time he completed the program, his name carried weight far beyond the barracks. Alexander Duggan was no longer just another soldier.

He had become a legend in the making, the kind of marksman whose reputation preceded him. His instructors, now slightly uneasy with the quiet perfection he displayed, classified his records as confidential.

It added fuel to the myth: the ghost who could hit any target at any distance.

Even in downtime, Alex honed his skills. He would lie awake at night, imagining missions, measuring distances with mental calculations, predicting angles of sunlight, wind changes, and escape routes. He understood that sniper work wasn’t just about shooting—it was about thinking three steps ahead, controlling fear, and becoming part of the environment. By the time he was deployed, he was not just trained—he was ready.

But what no one knew, not even his closest instructors, was that even ghosts could be hunted.

Alex understood the danger that lay ahead. Every mission would be a test not just of his skill, but of his nerve, his judgment, and his ability to survive when everything went wrong. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, unspoken thought lingered: no matter how far he ran or how perfect he became, there was one thing he couldn’t outrun—the memory of Nigel, and the life he had lost.

Chapter Text

Not long after, he was contracted to missions and services in different armies. The most notable one was when he was contracted to fight in Afghanistan.

The sun rose over the jagged mountains, turning the desert landscape into waves of orange and gold. Dust clung to everything, stinging eyes and scratching throats. Each mission was a careful balance of life and death, where one wrong step could mean instant oblivion.
He and his comrades eliminated target after target. When his first spotter got his legs blown up by one of the traps set by the enemy, Gary arrived at Alex's team, his new spotter.

Alex felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach as he watched his friend fall. The scent of burnt earth and gunpowder filled his nostrils, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to grieve; the desert demanded action, not sorrow.
They were in a spot far away from the village, the heat from the sun scorched their skin, and they sweated gallons of water easily. That's when Garry Cobb arrived, and their sergeant introduced him.

"Team, please welcome our new spotter, Garry Cobb," announced the sergeant joyfully.
At first, Garry didn't really dare talk that much with Alex.
He talked with the rest, but not Alex.

During a long afternoon of recon, Alex noticed Garry’s eyes flicking nervously toward him. He could sense Garry’s hesitation, a young soldier unsure of his place. Alex said nothing, letting Garry find his rhythm. Over time, that silence became a bridge, building trust in unspoken ways.

But one day, after a successful mission, something changed. The team had returned to base dusty and exhausted, still riding the adrenaline of pulling off a clean operation. While the others laughed and shared stories over their rations, Alex sat in his usual quiet corner, methodically cleaning his rifle.

Garry lingered nearby, fidgeting with the strap of his helmet. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You know… you don’t miss, do you?” he said, half-joking, half-serious.

Alex looked up, surprised. For a moment, he just studied the younger man, who looked ready to regret speaking. Then, with the faintest flicker of a smile, Alex replied, “That’s the idea.”

Something eased between them. From that day on, Garry started asking small questions—about wind, distance, timing—and Alex, instead of brushing him off, answered. Slowly, a rhythm grew. Garry’s sharp eyes and quick calculations began to match Alex’s steady hand. They learned to trust each other, one mission at a time.

Alex found himself reflecting on Nigel again, despite the chaos around him. Garry reminded him of certain things, not entirely, but just enough to stir buried memories. He realized that connection, even in this harsh place, was a rare gift.

Soon, the rest of the squad noticed the change. Where Garry had once hung back, he was now always at Alex’s side, the two of them communicating in clipped words or even just gestures. In the unforgiving Afghan heat, among dust and danger, a bond was being forged—one that would carry them through the missions yet to come. Everyone knew that they were the best duo, the unstoppable ones.
Garry reminded Alex a bit of Nigel, but no one ever could have been compared to Nigel.

[Helmand, Afghanistan — 2013]

The midday sun scorched the ridgeline, waves of heat rippling over the dust. Alex lay prone, cheek pressed against the rifle stock, his finger loose on the trigger guard. Beside him, Garry adjusted his spotting scope, sweat dripping down his temple.

“Movement, twelve o’clock,” Garry whispered.

Alex glanced through his scope. A man emerged from a compound below.

“Not him,” Alex muttered. “The beard’s wrong.”

“You’re killing me, Duggan,” Garry hissed, shifting impatiently. “We’ve been on this ridge six bloody hours.”

Alex didn’t move, eyes fixed down the barrel. “We wait.” His voice was calm, flat — like he could stay here forever.

Minutes crawled by. Then, from the shadow of a doorway, their real target stepped into the open. White beard. Robes. Surrounded by guards.

“Target acquired. 1,300 meters,” Garry confirmed, adjusting the range.

“Wind?” Alex asked, steadying his breath.

“Three left. Take it.”

Alex exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked, the shot snapped across the valley. A half-second later, the target dropped, crumpling in the dirt.

Mission complete.

The squad regrouped at the vehicles. Dust clung to their uniforms as they laughed, slapped shoulders, and loaded up. Garry leaned back in the jeep seat, shaking his head.

“You’re a machine, Alex,” he said quietly.

Alex only gave a half-smile. His eyes never left the horizon.
At the base, they celebrated and even got to go on holiday to Cyprus.

[Cyprus — Akrotiri, during R&R leave]

The squad was celebrating in the warm Mediterranean night, soldiers letting loose after deployments. Alex and Garry slipped away from the boisterous crowd into a quieter corner of the bar, nursing half-empty drinks.

 That’s when a sharply dressed man, clean and out of place, approached them. He slid into the seat across from Alex without invitation.
“You two are quite the pair in Afghanistan,” he said, voice low but confident.

“Word travels. I have a job — 20,000 pounds each. Kill someone in Ankara. Straightforward. No loose ends.”

Garry’s eyes widened. “Twenty thousand each? That’s… a lot.”

Alex remained calm. “Who is it?”

The man leaned in, sliding a photo across the table: a man named Barzani, a local publisher. “He talks too much. Too dangerous. He must go.”

For a moment, silence. Then Garry whispered, “We could do this. On top of army pay…”

Alex turned to him. “We’re still in the army, Garry. We have a duty. This is off limits.”

The stranger nodded, eyes measuring. “Understood. But keep it in mind.” He stood and walked away, leaving them with tension and possibility lingering in the air.

[Later — Turkey / Ankara]

Under the cover of darkness, Alex and Garry executed the contract. The target was in a modest house in Ankara, surrounded by light traffic and routine guards.

A single shot—impeccable, clean. The man collapsed silently. They vanished before the alarm could rise.

They met the man who had hired them in a shadowy room. He handed over the cash, impressed by their precision. “Very clean. More work to come,” he offered.

Alex thanked him but shook his head. “We decline. We’re still bound by our army service.”

Garry added, voice tight, “This was one job. Nothing more.”

The sponsor’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes were sharp. “Suit yourselves.” He left them with that lingering offer.
He had no idea that this decision would set in motion his darkest hour.

Chapter Text

Later that week, the section was sent to capture a deputy governor alive. Tension hung over the valley. The men argued over comms, but orders were orders.
Garry and Alex were hidden in the hills watching for any snipers. The rest of the team went to talk with the people at the wedding about the governor.
The sun beat down mercilessly, casting sharp shadows across the rocky terrain. Dust swirled around their boots as the wind cut across the ridges. Every bird call, every rustle of leaves set Alex’s senses on edge. His heart raced, adrenaline mingling with the dry heat. One wrong sound, one wrong move, and the mission could explode in disaster.

Suddenly, Alex spotted a sniper at the other side, hidden high in the mountains. With Garry's calculation, he shot the sniper, but the sniper's body accidentally triggered the trigger, and a shot ran out. Birds flew away, the rest of the team panicked, and both sides thought the other was attacking, so the team fired their guns. Shouts erupted. Gunfire cracked. In seconds, chaos. Civilians screamed. It was a wedding. And there was no stopping the fire.

Alex’s stomach lurched as he realized what was happening. Women shrieked, children cried, and the air smelled of gunpowder and dust. The vibrant colors of wedding clothes were marred by chaos and blood. His mind raced, but he forced it to stay cold, focused—an instinct honed by years of combat. Every second of hesitation could cost lives.

“Jesus Christ…” Garry muttered, frozen behind his scope.

Automatic fire ripped through the courtyard. Innocents fell in waves.

Garry and Alex quickly got up and ran with their equipment toward their team. By the time they arrived, all of those in the wedding were dead. One of their team members called for a clean-up and fired green smoke so that the army would be able to locate the place.

Alex’s hands shook slightly as he adjusted his rifle strap. The screams still echoed in his ears. He had never felt such a gnawing emptiness—a mix of rage, guilt, and revulsion. “This… is not how it was supposed to go,” he muttered under his breath, voice tight.

They quickly left the place with the vehicles, while they were at a safe distance, a rocket destroyed all the sights, thus erasing all evidence.
While the team called the mission a success, Garry whispered to Alex, "It wasn't a success, it was a fucking mess."
"I know," replied Alex. Alex sat still, face unreadable. Inside, something cracked.

The desert around them seemed vast and indifferent, echoing the emptiness inside him. The precision, the training, the logic. They could not erase the screams or the blood. Alex knew something had changed in him that day. Once a soldier, now something darker simmered beneath.

[Helmand, Afghanistan — weeks later]

The desert wind howled through the convoy as two armored jeeps rumbled across the barren track. Inside, the squad tried to shake off the memory of the botched mission — the wedding massacre, the airstrike that had erased the evidence. Laughter was forced, conversations brittle.

Alex sat stiff in the passenger seat of the second jeep, Garry beside him. His face was unreadable, but inside, rage and disgust twisted like barbed wire.

Suddenly, Alex raised his hand. “Stop!” he barked. “Hold up , I saw something.”
Both jeeps ground to a halt, tires spitting dust.

“What is it?” the sergeant called out from the lead vehicle.

“Could be an IED,” Alex replied coolly. He grabbed his rifle, jerking his head at Garry. “With me.”

The two of them moved out, stepping into the heat shimmer of the desert. Alex crouched low, scanning the ground, his scope tracing over rocks and dirt. Garry followed, tense, uncertain.

The sun reflected off the sand in blinding bursts. Every sound seemed amplified.The crunch of boots on gravel, the distant groan of metal, even the flutter of birds’ wings. Alex’s heartbeat drummed in his ears, each pulse synchronized with the careful sweep of his scope.

After a few minutes, Garry whispered, “There’s nothing here, Alex. We should head back.”
Alex’s jaw tightened. He glanced back at the vehicles — silhouettes against the glaring sun, their comrades leaning out of windows, waiting impatiently.

“Yeah,” Alex said flatly. “Nothing here.”
His thumb slid over the small black remote in his pocket.
Garry barely had time to register it before Alex pressed the trigger.

The desert exploded. A thunderclap of fire and metal consumed both jeeps in a blinding instant. The shockwave kicked up dust and smoke into the sky. Shards of steel rained down across the sand. Screams were swallowed by the roar, then cut short.

When the dust settled, the two jeeps were nothing but burning wreckage. Black smoke curled upward, carrying the stench of fuel and flesh.
Garry staggered, staring in disbelief. “Alex… what did you do?!”

Alex’s expression was cold, detached. “We’re done with them. After what they did at the wedding… they were already dead men.”

He turned and began walking away from the smoldering ruins, his shadow stretching across the sand. Garry, shaken and pale, hesitated before following.

Behind them, the “official report” would say the convoy was destroyed by a roadside IED. No survivors.
In truth, only Alex and Garry walked away.

Chapter Text

That was when Alexander Duggan died, and the ruthless assassin was born, the Jackal.

Ten years had passed since the desert and the dust, and Alex — now going by Charles — had parted ways with Garry long ago.
Their paths had diverged quietly, like two rivers flowing from the same source. Garry had run away; he hid away from Alex, while Alex disappeared into the shadows, each step of his journey leaving a trail that only he could see.

He was married now, living a life he had once thought impossible: a house, a child, laughter echoing faintly in corners he had long forgotten. But even amidst the mundane normalcy, the memory of Nigel was a constant, silent ghost at the edge of his mind. He missed him endlessly; only Nigel would have understood the choices Alex had made, the cold decisions he had buried under layers of discipline and training.

His wife, Nuria, never could. Garry had tried, but no one could bridge that gap — only Nigel could have. And he had been dead for almost two decades.

Alex’s double life was fragile. He had tried, once, to be the man who went to PTA meetings, who read bedtime stories, who remembered birthdays and anniversaries. But shadows followed him. Ghosts in the night. The whisper of someone who was never far away: the Jackal. He foolishly thought he could separate his two lives. To pretend to be normal.

It began with a slip-up. During a planning session for an assassination, Alex had misjudged timing. The client noticed, though not immediately. The small errors accumulated, and soon MI6 agents were on his trail.

Alex had done everything by the book, following orders during his time in Afghanistan, maintaining a code. Yet here, in the civilian world, his past was catching up — a hunter becoming the hunted.
Maybe he wanted this to happen. He wanted a bit of excitement in his life. He knew that he would always carve the rush that his job comes with.
When Nuria discovered the truth, she confronted him. She asked the question he had avoided for years. “Have you… killed people?”
Alex had almost laughed. The absurdity of it struck him so sharply, he could barely keep his composure. Not in front of her. Not now. Not ever.
“No,” he had said.
The word felt hollow on his tongue, but the lie was necessary. He would never be able to lie to Nigel, even in memory, even to himself.

But to Nuria? It was the only way to protect her, to protect the child, and to maintain a semblance of a normal life — something Alex had not known in years.

He promised her that after this last assignment, he would retire. The words felt heavy, binding him to a life he had hoped would end in peace. The assignment itself was simple in theory: eliminate a target who had crossed the wrong people. Alex executed it flawlessly. Silent. Precise. Without hesitation. The satisfaction was clinical, not emotional. The job completed, he returned home, expecting to find the comforting warmth of his family.

But Nuria was gone. The house was empty, the furniture dusted by absence. The child’s toys were strewn across the floor as though their owner had vanished mid-play.

While in his child's room, he got a phone call from the person who assigned him to the mission.
Looks like the client betrayed them both and wanted them dead. She asked, "Do you live in Spain? Cause they think you do." before hanging up. He does live in Spain. It looks like they found the Jackal.

He ran to his panic room, hidden behind his study. He took a traveling bag and tossed into it money and his fake documents. That's when he heard a gunshot from downstairs.
Looks like they have found him.

Alex shot down the electricity in the mansion. And closed the door to the panic room. The emergency red lights turned on in the room.
Alex calmly assembled a gun and added a silencer to it. The MI6 agent who was chasing him all over the world stepped into the room. She looked around but couldn't see him. She looked at the two-way mirror and said, " I will find you." Not knowing that the Jackal was on the other side.

They tried to chase him out by activating the fire alarm. He will show them why they should never try to catch an assassin in his own home. He snuck past them and aimed his gun at the agent. Her partner noticed the red light from the gun and jumped in front of her just before the bullet could reach her.

One down, one left.

The agent tried to talk to him." I saw her leave, you know." " I can help you find her.".
She walked deeper into the living room and asked," Why do you do it, Duggan?".
Alex was surprised for a second; it looked like she had found out who the Jackal was. Not the whole truth, of course. "Why do you?"
Alex asked behind a wall.
Bianca turned toward the voice instantly, and walked more cautiously and answered, "Because I like to win.".

"So do I," Alex answered her and then turned and sneaked around so he will be behind Bianca at the other side of the open living room.

"Surrender, it doesn't have to end this way." Bianca tried to convince him.

"It does." Answered her, Alex, before shooting her in the chest the moment she turned around to face him.

He got rid of the agents in his home.
Then Alex got into his car and tried to call Nuria, but she didn't answer.
Alex barely had time to react.

The vehicle lunged forward, smashing into his car with a deafening impact that twisted metal and shattered glass alike. Pain ripped through him — sharp, immediate, and unforgiving. Blood ran freely from a gash along his forehead and a wound in his side, warmth soaking through his shirt.

He crawled out of the wreckage, every movement a calculated effort against the agonizing haze of injury. He wouldn't be able to get help in time. He looked up at the sky, and through the spinning darkness, he saw his last thought forming: He would finally be reunited with Nigel.

Even in the haze of blood and shock, there was a strange sense of peace. Death, he thought, was finally a certainty, an end to the endless cycle of missions, lies, and shadows.

But death, as Alex was about to learn, was never the end.

Chapter Text

Bright light shone on Alex, and he heard a voice. You have one chance to change things, only one. Don't mess things up.

Suddenly, he gasped and launched forward on the bed.

Wait, a bed?

Alex opened his eyes and glanced around. The room looked familiar. After minutes of looking around and still processing what exactly had happened, Alex remembered.

This was his dorm room back at the boarding school. Alex remembered a faint voice saying You have one chance.

One chance for what? He had his suspicions, but didn't dare raise his hopes yet. He raced to the adjacent bathroom. He looked in the mirror and found himself in his 17-year-old body.

He put his hand on his face. No, it's very much real. It's not a hallucination, but his real body.

He is really back in his 17-year-old body. Alex needed to check the current date now because it means, it means, that he had another chance to live and fix his biggest mistake.

Alex walked back toward his bedroom, and on the nightstand beside his table was a newspaper. Alex, carefully, while his heart was hammering wildly in his chest, and his hands were sweaty and unsteady, grabbed the newspaper and held it in front of his face.

The date read August 17, 2006. It was the end of the summer vacation, before Nigel arrived at this school. It means this time he can save his beloved Nigel.

He won't reject him this time, not like last time.

Last time, he was a fool who didn't see what was in front of his nose all along.

He is now much mature. He lived years without Nigel, with the regret consuming his heart every day. 

Now he has a chance to change everything.

Only one problem... Nigel will only arrive in a few months. That seems too far away. 

Alex just wanted to see him again, to check that he's alright, to admire him. Even to simply hear his voice again after so many years.

 He also needed to prepare a plan to woo Nigel and prove to him that he is his Jack. 

When the right time comes, the first thing to do is to ensure Nigel won't change dorms, no matter what. Or maybe it would be better to win his attention? 

But how? First impressions are very important, and in the past, they haven't been the best.

Alex decided it's not too important right now. After all, he has months to prepare.

It was dinner time, but Alex wasn't feeling hungry at all; he was too excited. The thought of seeing his Nigel made him giddy. He lay back on the bed and smiled a goofy smile.

Alex fell asleep while his thoughts were full of Nigel. 

For days, Alex contemplated his next move; he just couldn't decide what to do. 

The days crawled. Summer stretched long and heavy, the campus half-empty, echoing with cicadas and the distant shouts of boys still lingering before the new term.

Alex wandered the halls like a ghost. Everything was familiar, the peeling paint on the banisters, the musty library, the scuffed floorboards of the dormitories, and yet it all felt foreign. After years of sand, blood, and steel, these walls seemed fragile, almost innocent.

Alex avoided his father as much as possible. He would have noticed that Alex had changed. He would have asked questions that Alex had no desire to answer.  Alex didn't expect himself to behave like a normal 17-year-old, but he had to try.

When he looks back on this thought, much, much later, he would find he didn't need to worry about that. 

He caught himself checking exits without meaning to, calculating angles, listening for footsteps in the dark. The instincts wouldn’t leave him, not even here. Once, when another boy came up behind him too quietly, Alex’s hand snapped out before he even thought, fingers locking around the boy’s wrist. The kid yelped in surprise.

“Sorry,” Alex muttered, letting go quickly, forcing a smile.

The boy frowned, rubbing his wrist, and hurried off. Alex stood there, heart hammering. I can’t keep doing this. Not here.

At night, he sat at his desk under the weak yellow lamp, a notebook open before him. At the top of the first page, he had written:

ONE CHANCE. DO NOT WASTE IT.  

He wrote all he remembered from his time at school, all the tragedies that happened, everything that led to Nigel's death.

If the same situation arises again, he will prevent Nigel from pulling the trigger. Alex now has much faster reflexes, and he knows how to read Nigel better, not everything, but many more things.

He knows when Nigel is annoyed, when he is angry, when he is happy, or surprised. All those little reactions that he tries to hide behind his cold, detached demeanor. 

Still, Nigel wouldn’t arrive for months. That was the hardest part. Alex found himself pacing the dorms at night, imagining how it would feel to see him again--his voice, his smile, the way he’d always seen Alex more clearly than anyone else ever could. He always understood him, the only one to do it.

But what then? Should he greet him like an old friend? No, Nigel wouldn’t remember any of this.

To Nigel, Alex was just another boy. If he came on too strong, too strange, he could push him away again, or think that Alex is a lunatic.

One day, he remembers, he knows where Nigel lives.

Chapter Text

Maybe it wasn't his best decision so far. But well, what is done is done.

In the morning, around 9 o'clock, Alex woke up. He looked at the other side of the room where Nigel's bed once was.

He remembered how he hated Nigel at the start, how he felt challenged. A new boy coming to school in the middle of the year and being academically better than Alex? A boy who had weird hobbies? But the truth is that he already felt something toward Nigel. That foreign feeling made him afraid, so he acted out.

If anyone had told Alex back then that he had fallen in love, Alex would have immediately decked them in the face. He was indeed a fool.
The thought of Nigel struck him harder than he expected. He could almost see him in the empty room, that quiet, unreadable look on his face. He blinked, and the vision was gone.

 He went to his closet. He was a vain person, and he really cared about his looks; none of the clothes he had were like the designer clothes he had worn in the past.

He dressed himself in black jeans, worn and soft from months of wear, paired with a faded gray hoodie that smelled faintly of rain and old memories.

Over it, he slid on a leather jacket, its edges scuffed and frayed, like the fragments of his own life. A dark beanie covered his hair, casting shadows across his face, hiding the restless thoughts in his eyes.

On his feet were battered sneakers, soles thin from endless walking, carrying him forward even when he felt he had nowhere to go. Every article of clothing felt like armor, shielding him from the world he no longer recognized.

He knew it was summer, and the clothes were too warm, but he felt the need to hide, to be one with the shadows.

He walked out of his room. He went through the dorm hall until he reached the courtyard. There weren't any people there. The grass was green, and a quiet, cool breeze blew around. He could hear the chirps of the birds, singing a song only they knew.

He quickly noticed, in the distance, his father walking toward Alex's direction, immersed in conversation with the man beside him. 

No way he will talk with his father; he will avoid that man as much as possible.

He lived for 37 years and still hasn't gotten over his issues with his father. The man who blamed Alex for his mother's death. Even if he doesn't say it, his behaviour says it all. 

Alex's father will notice that something is different about him. He will question him, and he will demand answers from him. Afraid that Alex has gotten himself involved with the "wrong company." 

Too late for that now. 

He escaped to the nearby forest. He knew this forest from the heart, every part, every corner. The animals that reside there, and their habits.

He quickly reached the school gates. Luckily, they were open.

He walked the track leading toward the train station. The station brought back bad memories, the day Nigel died. Alex felt himself tear up when he looked at the place where all of it had happened. Where he saw Nigel for the last time.

This time it won't happen. Alex would sooner die.

His throat tightened, and he had to turn his face away from the platform. In another life, this place was a grave. In this one, it could become a beginning. He whispered under his breath, as though Nigel might somehow hear."Not again. Never again."

He boarded the train that just arrived. He sat in the same seat he had sat the first time he went to Nigel's house with Nigel. Even the seat brought back memories. How in the middle of the night they snuck out of school to sneak into Nigel's hidden crawlplace inside his parents' basement. When Nigel first called him, Jack.

 Alex will make sure this time there will be many more good memories.

But beneath the determination sat a quiet, gnawing fear. What if he made the same mistakes again? What if, even with all his memories, he still failed? He clenched his fists in his lap, nails biting into his palms. No. Not this time. He wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

To distract himself, he watched the landscape blur past the window: green fields, stone fences, the occasional sleepy town. Once, he caught sight of a boy and a girl racing their bicycles down a dirt road. Their laughter carried faintly even through the glass. For a split second, Alex envied them.

The simplicity of being young without grief and regret in your chest. Without the pressure of the past and the future.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that an hour had passed and that he had already arrived at his destination. Only the announcement on the train had broken his thoughts.

He left the train quickly. He took the path he was familiar with. Each step made him more excited. He stopped just a couple of houses away from Nigel's house.

His plans were rather simple. Find Nigel, and watch what he is doing.

Without getting caught.

He moved quietly, scanning doorways and hedges for cover. Old habits died hard; even now, he planned his route like an operation.

The sun was too hot with his hoodie on. Sweat tickled his skin, but he refused to take off any layer of clothing.

Alex looked around at the neighborhood. Noticing every detail about every house. He heard a dog's bark.

Must be Luthor. He should stay away from the dog. It never liked Alex. 

The dog will bark the moment he even smells Alex, alerting everyone to his presence. Which Alex prefers to avoid. And he will not harm the dog. 

Because Nigel really loves the dog.

He crouched low behind a hedge, heart hammering at every sound. A neighbor’s gate creaked, and Alex’s pulse jumped as if he were back on a battlefield. Only when the old man shuffled past with a bag of groceries did he exhale.

Ridiculous—this was suburbia, not a warzone. But his instincts didn’t know the difference.

Then another neighbor walked by, and Alex quickly ducked behind a tree. He waited till the man walked away. His heart hammered loudly in his chest. 

Alex froze mid-step, his chest tight, every breath caught somewhere between anticipation and fear. His eyes narrowed, scanning the street, his heartbeat loud enough to echo in his ears. The world seemed to stretch, seconds crawling as though mocking him.

The moment he managed to calm his heart down, he saw him. The figure he had replayed in his mind for years, like a photograph burned into his eyelids.

Nigel. Alive. Breathing. Real.

Alex’s heart lurched into his throat. He wanted to run to him, to call out to do something.  But his feet stayed rooted to the pavement.

His brain screamed, “Don’t!” 

But his heart argued, loud and fast. “Go!”.

He swallowed hard, trying to force himself still, though every instinct of his seventeen-year-old self begged him to rush forward.

Nigel walked down the sunlit street, every step graceful, every movement familiar. Grey skinny jeans, white shirt under a navy blazer, that icy stare Alex had memorized like a photograph burned behind his eyes. In his left hand, the old doctor’s case, the one Alex packed his things in, back then, before leaving.

And beside him was ...

What? Alex was stunned. beside him was… a girl.

Her arm looped through his. Her laughter rang like a bell. Alex felt a sharp twist in his chest and, worse
Nigel was laughing at something she said.

Alex froze, the moment cracking like glass. 

No. This can’t be happening. Not now.

Chapter Text

Alex pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree, stomach twisting. The sunlight caught Nigel’s hair, making it shine like gold, and the girl’s laughter cut through the quiet air.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Every instinct screamed at him to run, hide, or charge forward—but his feet stayed rooted, pressed hard against the soft grass.

The warmth of the summer air pressed against his skin, mingling with the tension in his chest, making it impossible to focus on anything beyond that single, impossible moment.

Nigel glanced up. For a fraction of a second, his icy eyes flicked toward Alex’s hiding spot. Alex’s heart lurched. He swallowed hard, fingers digging into the bark, pressing until it bruised. The world seemed to pause. But Nigel looked back at the girl and smiled, as if nothing had happened.

Alex’s jaw tightened. This Nigel doesn’t know me yet.

The pair stopped near the gate of Nigel’s house. The girl stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and kissed Nigel’s cheek. Alex’s mouth fell open. Jealousy roared through him like fire, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.

Unacceptable, his mind screamed. I shouldn’t—I can’t—care about her.

He remembered the way Nigel used to flinch at casual touch, how he had always said he “wasn’t the affectionate type.”
And yet—there he was now, letting her touch him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Alex’s fists clenched at his sides, nails pressing into his palms until the pain grounded him.

“They always close the old shop at five,” the girl said, tugging lightly on his arm. “I’m glad we made it on time.”

“I told you,” Nigel replied, shaking his head with a small grin, “if we were late, it wouldn’t have mattered. We could have waited.”

Alex’s fists tightened again. Their world. Their little bubble. And I’m… nothing.

He shifted slightly behind the tree, a dry twig snapping under his heel. Nigel froze mid-step, a flicker of awareness crossing his face. His icy eyes swept the empty street. Alex held his breath, chest tight, heart hammering so loud it might have betrayed him. Nothing. Just a shadow of a breeze moving the leaves. Nigel shook his head, a faint frown lingering, and continued walking.

Alex’s pulse raced. He sensed me. He saw me. He… didn’t see me. He wanted to call out, to explain, but his voice caught in his throat. He tugged at the hem of his hoodie, pulling it lower over his hands, and wiped the sweat from his neck with the back of his wrist. No. It wouldn’t matter. Nigel didn’t know him yet. Not until the middle of the school year.

It must stay like that. If he changed too much, the timeline might shatter; even Alex couldn’t predict the consequences. Right now, his only advantage was knowing what would happen—and how to prevent it.

Even now, he noticed small differences. Nigel didn’t have a girlfriend, as far as Alex remembered. That word tasted bitter on his tongue, sharp and unwelcome.

They walked down the narrow street, passing neatly trimmed hedges and low fences. The girl teased Nigel about something small—how he almost tripped on the uneven pavement. Alex’s stomach twisted. So easy. So natural. And I— I’m not supposed to exist here. Not yet. Not in this moment.

He ducked behind a low hedge as they neared Nigel’s gate, fingers gripping the leaves for balance. A bird chirped, a dog barked somewhere in the distance. Alex imagined Nigel might somehow sense him, the way he sometimes felt a prickle in the back of his neck when someone was watching. Maybe Nigel can sense me.

“Careful,” the girl said with a laugh, tugging on Nigel’s sleeve. “Don’t trip on that.”

“I told you I’m fine,” Nigel replied, voice smooth, calm, almost teasing.

Alex’s chest tightened. He wanted to push forward, to speak, to ask a thousand questions at once—but he stayed crouched, knees digging into the soft earth. His hoodie was hot, sticky against his skin. He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his hand and adjusted the hood, pulling it lower to cover his eyes.

Who is she? His mind spun. I need to know. Just once. Just one look.

The girl brushed her fingers across Nigel’s arm again. He smiled, softening in a way that made Alex ache. He wanted that smile. For himself. But he couldn’t. He stayed frozen, absorbing every detail: the curve of Nigel’s smile, the tilt of his head, the way the sunlight caught his hair.

Shadows of clouds drifted across the street, shifting the sunlight. Alex’s throat was dry, chest tight. He felt trapped between the urge to run forward and the desire to stay, to memorize everything, to store it all inside him. He took a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm inside.

He knew he could only act at the right time. One wrong move, one glance too long, and everything could shatter. Patience was the only weapon he had.

Finally, the girl pushed the gate open, stepping inside. Nigel followed, their voices fading behind the wooden door. Alex exhaled, collapsing against the tree, sweat soaking through his hoodie. His fingers traced the rough bark, grounding himself.

“I’ll figure it out,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Just… one look. Just once.”

He stayed there for long minutes, heart racing, ears straining for the faintest sound. Somewhere inside, a quiet fear whispered: What if this changes everything? What if I can’t—what if history repeats itself?

Images flashed in his mind: the past Nigel, the boy he had known, the moments they had shared before fate tore them apart. Alex could almost feel the warmth of Nigel’s hand in his, hear the laughter that had once belonged only to them.

He adjusted his hoodie again, tugged it lower over his hands, and wiped sweat from his brow. Every fiber of him wanted to chase after Nigel, to call out, to claim the summer for himself. But he knew he had to wait. Observe. Learn. Patience was survival.

Not again. Never again.
The air smelled of grass, dust, and faint flowers from the hedges lining the street. Alex inhaled deeply, grounding himself in the present while his mind raced toward the days and weeks ahead.

He would find out who the girl was. He would follow. He would observe. And maybe… maybe he would discover a way to reclaim what he had lost.

With one final glance at the gate, he slipped away into the shadows, heart pounding, mind spinning with questions he didn’t yet have answers for. The summer stretched before him, long, bright, and dangerous.

Alex knew—this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Alex returned to his dorm room at his school. He flopped down on his bed.

He needed to survive like this for at least three months. The waiting was killing him. He sighed tiredly.

Alex lay on his back with an arm over his face. He stared at the old ceiling and whispered,

“Why is it that the moment I can fix things, something always messes them up?”

“It’s karma, isn’t it?” he laughed to himself quietly.

“Now I know how Nigel felt when I asked Susan out.”

His laughter faded into the silence. The room didn’t laugh back.

For the first few days, he tried to keep busy — reading, walking, pretending the sun didn’t rise and set without Nigel in it.
He wrote things down sometimes: little half-thoughts that started with ‘What if’ and ended with nothing.

Other times, he caught himself glancing at the door, half-expecting someone who wasn’t coming yet.
Nights stretched longer than they should. The city outside hummed with the sound of a summer ending, and he felt it — like something closing its eyes.

By the time September came, his notebooks were full of meaningless words. The kind people write just to feel alive.
He stuffed them under his pillow the night before classes started, as if they were secrets he wasn’t ready to read again.

“Three months,” he murmured. “And he’ll be back.”

Alex turned off the light, but didn’t sleep for a long time.

Alex woke up early. School has officially started. He was sure every little mistake would be reported to his father, the headmaster, and he would continue to nag Alex until he got his answers and until Alex started to behave as he expected. To be one day part of his little precious club.

They do nothing there, only whine all day.

Alex got up from his bed and walked toward the bathroom with a big yawn. He quickly brushed his teeth; every action was monotonous, given no thought.

Thoughts of going back to school clouded his mind. No one enjoys finishing high school, and Alex is no exception. He has already forgotten most materials.

He went back to his bedroom and took his school uniform from the dresser.

As he put on his clothes, he thought, I must behave like the old Alex.
Easier said than done.

Alex went to the dining hall to eat his breakfast. The hall was already filled with students and teachers by the time he arrived. He noticed his father eating with the other teachers.

The headmaster glanced at him, a warning in his eyes the moment Alex entered the hall.
Behave or else.

He scoffed and turned away, joining the queue for breakfast.

The noise in the dining hall was dull and rhythmic—chairs scraping, cutlery clinking, the low hum of morning chatter. Someone laughed too loudly near the far table, and Alex flinched at the sound without meaning to. Everything felt sharper this morning, as if the world itself had been freshly polished just to irritate him.

A tray slid down the counter toward him. He took it without looking up, the smell of scrambled eggs and burnt toast clinging to the air. The cook gave him a polite nod; he didn’t return it.

He moved along the line, scooping food onto his plate in silence. Behind him, students murmured about their vacations, trading stories about beaches and summer jobs and people he didn’t care to know.

His summer had been different—quiet, suffocating, full of waiting.

When he turned from the counter, his father’s gaze met his again from across the room. That same quiet command in his eyes: Sit straight. Speak properly. Be presentable.

Alex’s jaw tightened. He deliberately chose a table in the far corner, where the light from the tall windows fell in pale slanted strips. The wood was scratched, initials carved by bored hands through years of repetition. It felt safe there, almost invisible.

His father’s voice carried faintly across the room, calm and measured as he spoke to one of the teachers. The man was all authority, all order. The kind of person who never lost control of anything—except, perhaps, his son.

He sat alone for barely a minute before someone dropped a tray across from him with a loud clatter.

“Morning, sunshine,” Josh said, grinning. His curls were a mess, his tie even worse. He looked like he’d sprinted from his dorm and hadn’t slowed down since.

Raj followed behind him, moving with his usual careful precision, sliding into the seat beside Alex.

“You look thrilled to be back,” Raj said, deadpan, breaking a piece of toast in half.

"I never left," replied Alex without humor. He always lived at the boarding school.

Josh laughed, the kind of loud, unfiltered laugh that made teachers glare. “See? He missed us. Look at that enthusiasm.”

“I missed the food,” Alex replied, stabbing at his eggs. “It’s the same flavorless disappointment I remember.”

Raj raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here two minutes and you’re already being dramatic.”

Josh leaned in, elbows on the table. “So what’d you even do all summer? We didn’t hear from you. Raj thought you got kidnapped or joined a cult.”

“I didn’t say cult,” Raj said evenly. “I said disappeared mysteriously. There’s a difference.”

Alex forced a chuckle. “Nothing exciting. Just… stayed busy.”

Josh narrowed his eyes in fake suspicion. “Busy doing what? Moping? Writing sad poetry in your dorm?”

“Maybe,” Alex said, half-smiling. “You’ll never know.”

Josh grinned, tossing a grape at him. Alex caught it without thinking and flicked it back, hitting Josh square in the shoulder. For a moment, laughter replaced the heaviness in Alex’s chest.

Just before anyone could start eating, a teacher clapped his hands at the front of the hall.

“Quiet, please. Prayer first.”

Chairs scraped back as the noise dimmed. Dozens of students stood, heads bowed automatically. The morning light caught the silver cross hanging near the teacher’s desk, throwing a pale shimmer across the room.

Alex mumbled the familiar words under his breath, eyes open just enough to glance across the hall. His father stood with the other staff, posture rigid, eyes closed in perfect composure.

Alex’s lips kept moving, but the words meant nothing.

“…and grant us wisdom, patience, and strength in our work today. Amen.”

“Amen,” the hall echoed back.

The sound of benches shifting followed immediately, chatter swelling again. Plates clinked, spoons scraped. The moment of quiet reverence dissolved like smoke.

Alex sat again, poking absently at his food, trying not to look toward the staff table.

Then, the sound faded, and silence filled the cracks between them. Alex watched Josh lean back, talking about how awful the summer job at his father's firm had been, how he kept pressuring Josh to become a politician. Raj rolled his eyes but listened anyway.
Alex smiled faintly, but part of him wasn’t really there.

Every second felt fragile—like a scene he’d already lived once but couldn’t stop from replaying. He caught himself staring at Josh too long, memorizing his gestures, the way he pushed his hair back when he laughed.

He swallowed hard.

You don’t know yet, do you? he thought. You’re still alive. You’re still fine.

Alex finished his food and pushed the tray aside. He rubbed a hand over his face, then through his hair, trying to shake off the static of unease that had been following him since morning.

“Hey,” Raj said, nudging him. “You’re zoning out again.”

Alex blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

The bell rang for assembly. The scrape of chairs filled the room.

Breakfast passed in its usual blur. When the bell rang for assembly, the entire hall moved as one — a low wave of movement and noise. Josh groaned dramatically.

“Here we go. Year’s first sermon.”

Raj sighed. “He’s not wrong.”

“Still not a morning person,” Josh said, shaking his head. “Come on, assembly’s in five. Let’s get it over with before the headmaster hunts us down.”

At the mention of the headmaster, Alex’s jaw tensed automatically.

“Yeah,” he muttered, grabbing his tray. “Wouldn’t want to ruin his perfect morning.”
The three of them stood, blending into the crowd heading for the hall. Josh was still talking about some prank idea, Raj was pretending not to listen, and Alex trailed just behind them, half lost in the noise.

He didn’t know why, but as sunlight spilled through the corridor windows, he felt the faint, unshakable ache of déjà vu—like time itself was holding its breath.

Alex followed them into the main hall, the echo of hundreds of shoes on stone filling the corridor. The assembly room smelled faintly of polish and chalk. Rows of wooden benches faced the raised podium at the front. Teachers lined the walls, hands behind their backs, faces carved into polite attentiveness.

Alex took a seat near the middle. His father stood at the podium, papers arranged in perfect symmetry. He didn’t need them; he’d been giving the same speech for years.

When the chatter died, the headmaster’s voice carried easily through the hall.

“Good morning. It’s a pleasure to see you all again — and to welcome our new students to St. Augustine’s.”

The words rolled out smooth, practiced. Alex stared down at his hands. He could almost predict the rhythm — the pauses, the polite laughter cues, the inevitable speech about discipline, tradition, and excellence.

He tuned out halfway through. Josh scribbled a cartoon on the corner of his notebook, passing it to Raj, who nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Alex smiled faintly, remembering this exact moment from before — every sentence, every inflection — like a movie he’d already seen.

His father’s tone shifted. “As always, St. Augustine’s strives to shape not only great minds, but good character. We expect diligence, respect, and integrity in all our students.”

The headmaster’s gaze swept across the hall. When it landed on Alex, it lingered. Just long enough for Alex to feel it.

That silent warning again.

Behave.

Alex’s smile vanished. He straightened automatically, staring at the floor until his father looked away.

The rest of the speech blurred past. Applause followed, half-hearted but obedient. Chairs scraped again as everyone rose.

Josh muttered, “If I hear the word ‘integrity’ one more time, I’m transferring.”

Raj smirked. “You won’t. They don’t take transfers from purgatory.”

Alex snorted, trying to shake the stiffness from his shoulders. “Come on. We’ve got math first, right?”

Josh groaned audibly. “Perfect. Nothing like starting the year with existential suffering.”

They left the hall with the rest of the students, the sound of footsteps echoing down the long corridor. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, dust motes swirling in the air. Outside, the sky was sharp and blue — too calm for how restless Alex felt inside.

He adjusted the strap of his bag and glanced toward the courtyard. For a brief second, he thought he saw movement — a dark car pulling up near the gates, a figure stepping out — but then the flow of students carried him away toward class.

He brushed the thought off. Nigel wouldn’t arrive for another three months.

Still, the faint unease in his chest didn’t fade.

Chapter Text

Classes were usually boring. Today was no exception. It had been around two months since school started, and Alex had perfected the art of appearing attentive while his mind ran a dozen steps ahead.

Math class dragged on in the usual haze of chalk dust and whispered sighs. Alex sat near the back, notebook open but mostly empty. His eyes flicked across the room, observing patterns rather than numbers.

Who left early, who whispered to whom, the way footsteps echoed in the hall — all small data points for later. Anything could be useful in the future at any time.

He knew that better than anyone.

He noticed a new tension in the air today: Josh tapped his pencil nervously against the desk, Raj twirled his pen like a baton, and even the teacher seemed more distracted than usual.

Alex didn’t ask why. He only recorded it in the mental ledger of “things to note.”

Alex's mind was far away today. He kept thinking about that girl.

The one he saw with Nigel. This year, it was harder to track someone. Unlike in the upcoming years, not every person has a social media account.

A shame, really. He really wanted to know who dared to kiss Nigel on the cheek.

Alex never liked competition, not as Duggan, not as Alex, and not as the Jackal.

Alex didn't notice until Josh, who was sitting beside him, elbowed him in the side, that the teacher was trying to get his attention.

"Mr.Forbes, what is more important than paying attention to the lesson?" Asked the teacher with a slight glare.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the thought of having this boring monologue be finished?" replied Alex sarcastically, while rolling his eyes.

"Get out. Go to the headmaster's office now," shouted the teacher angrily. Waving his left arm around.

"You are so screwed," whispered Josh, a mischievous grin on his face.

Alex chuckled to himself, as if he cared what his father thought. He quickly packed his books into his bag and left the classroom without glancing back.

He snuck out of school instead of going to the headmaster's office. Alex decided to walk around the city to map every inch of it, all possible exists, in case the knowledge is ever needed.

Alex’s mind shifted seamlessly. Duggan's instincts kicked in. Observation. Timing. Routes. He imagined the train station, the winding streets outside town, and the safest ways to travel unnoticed. In his head, he traced steps from the school gates to the station, noting guards, unlikely paths, and hiding spots.

And then he saw her.

The girl. Blue jacket, braid swinging, carrying bread. She wasn’t rushing. Nigel followed, speaking in low tones. Every gesture, every tilt of the head, every step through the sunlit streets became a note in Alex’s mind.

The girl laughed at something Nigel said, a soft, light sound, and Alex felt a pinch he couldn’t name. Tactical assessment, first: close. Familiar. Protective. Human part of him: jealousy, longing, frustration.

He observed all the interactions between the pair, every little detail. He then caught the girl's name in the conversation, Alison.

Alison.

He repeated the name in his mind, testing it like a codeword. It didn’t match any memory, any mission, any file — and yet it clung to his thoughts as if it mattered.

Nigel handed her something — a book, wrapped neatly in brown paper — and she smiled again before turning down a narrow lane. Alex watched until she disappeared from sight. Only then did he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

She’s real. She exists. And she’s with him.

Alex’s jaw tightened. He forced himself to look away, to catalog the surroundings instead — the uneven cobblestones, the corner shop window’s reflection, the time on the clock tower. But every observation circled back to her.

It irritated him.

He was supposed to be past distractions.

Years of training had taught him how to detach, how to separate emotion from purpose. But here he was, heart pounding over a girl who laughed at Nigel’s jokes.

Pathetic.

He adjusted his hoodie, scanning the area one more time before turning toward the train station. The map was complete now — every alley, every turn, every place to hide. Yet his mind wasn’t on escape routes anymore.

It was one of the possibilities.

He needed to know who Alison was, how she knew Nigel, and what she meant to him. Information first, emotion later.
The bell tower in the distance struck noon, jolting him from thought. Alex started walking back toward the school, his pace steady, his expression blank.

But as he crossed the bridge leading to the old market road, he caught sight of something small and familiar — a single red ribbon snagged on the railing. The same color as the one Alison wore in her braid.

He stared at it for a moment, fingers brushing the worn fabric. His pulse quickened. Coincidence, maybe. But he didn’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore.

He tucked the ribbon into his pocket.

When he returned to school, his father’s secretary stopped him in the corridor, voice sharp.

“Mr. Forbes, the headmaster wants to see you.”

Alex smiled faintly, calm settling back over him like a mask.

“Of course he does.”

He adjusted his collar, straightened his tie, and walked toward his father’s office. The ribbon pressed against his palm like a reminder of the girl, the moment, and the fact that he was already planning his next move.

The secretary opened the office door with a disapproving sniff.

“He’s here, sir.”

Alex stepped inside with the kind of confidence that could only come from someone who didn’t have any.

His father sat behind the enormous oak desk, posture perfect, expression carved in stone. The office smelled like old books and authority.

“Alexander,” his father said, voice clipped. “Would you care to explain why I received a report that you walked out of mathematics today?”

Alex dropped into the chair opposite him, slouching like a professional.

“Well, technically, I didn’t walk out. I was invited to leave. Quite loudly, in fact.”

“Invited?”

“Yes. ‘Get out,’ I believe were his exact words. Hard to misinterpret.”

His father inhaled sharply through his nose — the sound of a man counting to ten in Latin.

“This is not amusing. You are here to learn, not to—”

“—Not to think for myself? Got it. Crystal clear.”

The headmaster’s eyes narrowed. “Do you find defiance entertaining?”

Alex tilted his head. “Not really. But it’s the only elective this school offers that I’m actually good at.”

A long silence followed. The clock ticked somewhere in the background, dramatic as ever.

Finally, his father folded his hands on the desk. “You’re an embarrassment, Alexander. Do you even realize how your behavior reflects on me?”

“Oh, constantly,” Alex said with mock sympathy. “Must be exhausting being you.”

His father’s composure cracked for just a second. “You think you’re clever.”

“I know I’m clever. That’s half the problem.”

The headmaster leaned forward slightly, tone lowering. “One more stunt like this, and I’ll have you confined to the dorms for a month. No city walks. No freedom.”

Alex’s expression didn’t change, but a flicker of irritation passed behind his eyes.

“Understood,” he said smoothly. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on the thrilling campus life. The cafeteria food alone is worth staying for.”

His father’s sigh was long and tired, like he’d been living the same conversation on loop for years.

“Get out of my sight, Alexander. And for once in your life, try not to make a spectacle of yourself.”

Alex stood, straightened his blazer, and smiled politely.

“No promises, sir. But I’ll do my best to disappoint quietly.”

He turned to leave, hand brushing his pocket. The ribbon was still there — soft, out of place, and entirely his secret.

As the office door shut behind him, Alex grinned to himself.

He was supposed to be grounded.

He was supposed to stay put.

Which, naturally, meant he wouldn’t.

The halls after curfew were different — quieter, heavier. The kind of silence that made every footstep sound guilty.
Alex knew how to walk without being heard.

He’d learned it years ago, in places where getting caught didn’t mean detention — it meant a bullet.

Funny how that kind of skill translated so well to sneaking out of a boarding school.

He moved like a shadow past the prefect’s room, counting breaths, steps, and pauses.

When the old floorboard by the stairs creaked, he muttered under his breath,

“Of course. Ancient school, ancient floors, ancient stupidity.”

He slipped outside through the laundry exit, the cold night air hitting him like a slap.

Yorkshire nights were merciless — wet stone, damp grass, the faint smell of rain clinging to the air.

He pulled his coat tighter, hands in pockets, eyes scanning the grounds.

Getting to the town wasn’t easy. He’d mapped the route in his head weeks ago — over the west wall, down the slope by the chapel, follow the road till the train tracks hummed faintly in the distance.

He remembered it like muscle memory, the way he used to memorize exit routes for contracts.

Old habits die hard.

“A month early,” he muttered to himself. “But I’m not patient enough to wait.”

By the time he reached the station outskirts, the town was half asleep.

A few lamps still glowed behind fogged windows — the bakery, a pub, someone’s sitting room.

And there she was again. Alison. The same blue jacket.

She was standing outside the bakery, laughing with a woman who must have been her mother, holding a bag of groceries.
No Nigel this time.

Alex watched from across the street, keeping his distance.

It wasn’t the first time he’d tailed someone — but this felt different.

Back then, it was business. Now, it was curiosity. Or maybe something uglier.

She handed the woman a coin, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled.

The kind of simple, ordinary smile that had no right to make his chest tighten.

Alex scowled.

“Get it together,” he whispered. “You’re not jealous. You’re… conducting reconnaissance.”

He said it like he might believe it if he said it twice.

A car rolled past, and when it cleared, she was gone.

He exhaled sharply, scanning the street — then caught sight of her turning the corner, heading uphill.

Without thinking, he followed.

He kept his distance, always in the shadows, steps silent on cobblestone.

She turned left, down a narrow lane, and paused at a wrought-iron gate. Beyond it stood a small, ivy-covered house.

She pushed it open, glanced once over her shoulder — and for a heartbeat, Alex thought she’d seen him.

He froze.

But she only looked at the street, the way people do when they feel watched but don’t know why.

Her cold, detached eyes were similar to Nigel’s — the same shade, the same unnerving calm. Alex frowned. That couldn’t be a coincidence… could it?

Then she went inside.

Alex waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.

He moved closer, eyes tracing every detail — the street name, the door color, the distance from the church bell he could hear faintly in the distance.

He filed it all away. Information was power.

And yet…

He didn’t walk away. Not yet.

He stood there a little longer than he should have, watching the dim light flicker in her window, wondering what kind of life existed behind it — one that Nigel was a part of, and he wasn’t.

Finally, he turned, pulling the coat tighter again.

His breath came out in a quiet laugh, half bitter, half amused.

“God, I really am pathetic,” he said to no one, and started the long walk back to school.