Page 15

Kabir

Zarek was spotting me as I did my last set of shoulder presses. Surprisingly, Sebastian had joined us today, doing curls in the mirror. Logan was off somewhere with his physiotherapist.

“Last one,” Zarek said, voice flat.

I grunted through the rep, dropped the dumbbells, and sat up with a sigh. “You ever smile during these or is that too emotionally expressive for you?”

Zarek gave me the barest twitch of an eyebrow. “Focus on your form, Cipher.”

Cipher .

I was just about to unwisely toss a smart-ass remark back when a sudden, loud bellow made all of us jolt.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”

I snapped my head toward the locker area, where Logan stood frozen mid-step, eyes wide in a mix of horror and… awe?

His gaze wasn’t on us.

It was locked on Zarek, who was walking toward the bench press—shirtless now, having ditched his hoodie. The light caught his bare chest.

That’s when I saw it.

A clean, bold tattoo over his heart. Simple font. One number.

21 .

Zarek stopped in his tracks, mid-stride. “Logan. Indoor voice.”

“No. No, no, no. You do not get to indoor-voice me right now!” Logan stalked closer, eyes squinting like he was trying to verify a UFO sighting. “What the fuck is that, Zar?!”

Sebastian had already stopped lifting. “Goddamn,” he breathed. “Did you—Zarek Rivera—actually get inked?”

Zarek rolled his eyes and reached for his shirt, clearly debating whether to put it back on and run. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big—” Logan laughed, then choked on it. “You tatted twenty-one on your chest.”

I blinked, confused. “What’s twenty-one?”

Zarek didn’t answer. Neither did Logan—not at first. He just kept staring.

“That’s how many times I saved his life,” Logan finally said, voice quieter now, a little rough at the edges. “Twenty. And then I—” he cleared his throat, “—then I died. And when I came back, you told me that counted.”

Zarek didn’t look at him, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. “It did count.”

Sebastian grinned, clearly enjoying this entire exchange like it was a goddamn drama series. “Wait, wait, wait. You got the tattoo after Logan came back, right? After he saved you for the twenty-first time?”

Zarek hesitated. One second too long.

Logan’s jaw dropped. “You got it before?!”

Zarek finally sighed, muttering, “It was for closure.”

Logan wiped an invisible tear from his eye. “I’m honored. Truly. I mean—wow. You branded your grief on your skin like a villain.”

Zarek looked like he regretted every life decision that brought him here.

Sebastian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So, now that Logan’s back… you gonna get it lasered off?”

“I was thinking of adding an asterisk,” Zarek said dryly.

Logan clutched his chest. “I am the twenty-first reason you cry at night, admit it.”

Zarek rolled his eyes. “I’m removing it.”

“You won’t.” Logan grinned. “You’re emotionally repressed, not heartless.”

“Give it time.”

Logan wasn’t done. “You gonna add another tally next time I save you? Like a kill count, but for emotional dependency?”

Zarek turned around just long enough to mutter, “I’m burning this gym down.”

Logan clapped. “Make sure the fire spells ‘twenty-two’!”

I just shook my head.

The easy camaraderie between them made me feel something odd as it always did. That was when I noticed how Zarek was looking at me as though he was embarrassed that this whole scene unfolded in front of me. I wasn’t privileged enough to be a witness to this. I was Cipher, after all. Not Kabir Gill.

???

Married.

She was getting married .

I didn’t know what to feel as I stepped into the café, not at all eager to get my sullen day started. The morning air was stale, the world was too loud, and my head was still trying to wrap itself around the message.

It had been years since I last heard from her. Years since she’d taken that knife and lodged it between my ribs with that soft, indifferent smile. And yet—Namrata still had the power to derail my entire fucking life.

I just needed to focus. That promotion to Senior Cybersecurity Engineer at NASA wasn’t going to bag itself. If I kept my head down, nailed the assessment, hit the metrics—maybe the pieces would finally fall into place.

But no. Of course not.

Of all the things she could’ve done, she just had to keep Ahmed. Still had him playing the sad little messenger boy years later. Couldn’t she find a new friend? One who didn’t still think I gave a damn? I didn’t.

I hadn’t spoken to her in forever. I didn’t want to. But she was always just checking in. Always needing closure. As if closure was her way of pushing the knife in a little deeper. I never replied.

Until this time.

This time, she sent a fucking wedding invitation.

Ahmed had delivered it in person—looking like he’d rather have dental surgery without anesthesia. Said she thought it would be healing if I came.

Healing.

She always said we were friends first. That we should be able to go back to that. The only problem?

We never broke up.

Not really. It was never said out loud.

The relationship was never given enough dignity to have a respectful end.

And now?

A wedding invite.

To a life she never saw with me.

I took a sip of my coffee, hoping the burn would distract me. It didn’t. Not enough.

I finally reached campus and pushed through the glass doors, moving on autopilot toward my desk. Maybe work could take my mind off it.

But when I turned the corner, I stopped short.

Three massive security guards stood around my station. One of them was rifling through my backpack. Another had his hand on the holster of a gun I hoped was just for intimidation.

What. The. Fuck.

“Uh… is there a problem?” I asked, lowering my coffee.

The guy checking my desk didn’t even glance up.

But the third man—the one standing back with arms crossed, who hadn’t moved—turned to me.

And his eyes locked on mine like he already knew who I was.

“Mr. Kabir Gill?” he asked.

I always thought I’d be one of those men who’d answer that type of question with ‘who’s asking?’, but my bloody throat closed.

A cracking “Yeah?” escaped me, my breathing picking up.

He stepped forward—smooth, controlled, way too calm.

“You need to come with us,” he said.

That was the day I met Zarek ‘Ghost’ Rivera and because he offered an excellent excuse to not attend the damn wedding, I took it. Then I met the squad—squad I was joining as a new trainee—and learnt that Zarek was the Squad Leader.

The man I couldn’t call anything but his call sign for over a year. The man I silently considered my mentor during training, who barely nodded when I passed the deadliest mock mission of my life.

I wasn’t like Logan. Or Dylan. I wasn’t Maxton.

The mission that claimed Maxton’s life and nearly took mine was the same one that earned me my first near-death experience. While Zarek grieved his fallen brother, I lay in a sterile infirmary with bandages and silence.

No visits. Not from the team. My family wasn’t even informed.

Only Amelia visited. No one else.

Because I wasn’t Maxton.

I wasn’t Logan.

I wasn’t Dylan.

Hell—I wasn’t even Kabir.