He wasn't coming back from this one. It wasn't a thought he could really put into words, but there was a part of him that knew it with a weighted certainty.
He would live, and maybe that was the worst part. He would live, and his life would move on. There would be a new leader, a new mission, new people to weave themselves in and out of his story.
But none of them would be her.
It might have been easier if she had died. He hated himself for even thinking that, but he couldn't help it. If she was gone, a part of him would die with her, and it would be an emptiness he'd carry with him to his own grave.
She was out there, though. She was out there, and he couldn't save her. Every day, every hour, every minute was rank with his own failure. Every time he went off-world to fulfill another mission, it twisted the knife of betrayal even deeper, because he wasn't looking for her. It cut deeper and deeper, ripping through the most vulnerable parts of him.
Eventually, there'd be nothing left but a shell with his face and his memories.
He wondered if they'd even notice.