Jack stirred from the fog of his dreams, drifting slowly to consciousness. The air smelled clean, touched faintly by the salt of the ocean, but something else lingered. A familiarity he couldn't place. His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself in a dimly lit room. The blinds were drawn, but through the cracks he could see the warm light of the setting sun outside, casting an amber glow along the floor and walls. The shadows stretched lazily, as if time itself was hesitant to move forward.
Jack tried to move his limbs, but his body felt foreign, heavy. His arms throbbed, his legs felt stiff, and his throat was dry. He took a slow breath, trying to calm the panic that threatened to rise in his chest. The room was quiet, save for the distant murmur of the ocean. He stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of where he was, why everything seemed so… familiar.
His mind began to flicker, jagged and fractured. Flashbacks assaulted him—moments of agony, hands tightening restraints, his skin burning as hot iron pressed against him, and water, endless water, drowning him. He clenched his jaw, forcing the memories back, but they came in waves—scenes from the Russian prison blending with older, more terrible memories. Cheng's face loomed in the darkness of his thoughts, his cold, calculating eyes staring back at Jack.
Jack's breath hitched as the flashbacks grew more intense, flashes of Cheng torturing him in China, the relentless interrogation, the pain, the despair. But then, relief. He remembered the moment he had killed Cheng. The katana. The force of the blow. He had made sure—he had to make sure. Cheng was dead. He was gone forever. No one came back from that, not with their head severed from their body. Jack had ensured it. But still, the doubt crept in. Could Cheng return? Was there a chance—no, he forced the thought away. It wasn't possible. He was dead.
But then, Audrey. Her death. He hadn't been there. He hadn't seen her body. He was told she'd been shot, but he hadn't witnessed it with his own eyes. No severed head. No certainty. Could she still be alive?
His fists clenched involuntarily, the muscles in his arms tensing as the thought took hold. In the back of his mind, that same irrational hope, the one that had kept him going through the darkest days in China, whispered to him again. Maybe. Maybe Audrey was still alive. He had to know. He had to believe, just as he had once believed he would make it home. He survived when no one thought he could. So maybe, just maybe...
The door opened with a soft creak, pulling Jack from his thoughts. He blinked, focusing on the figure that stepped into the room. James Heller. His hair was grayer now, his face etched with lines that told of the years of loss and responsibility, but his presence was unmistakable.
"Jack," Heller said, his voice low, careful. "How are you feeling?"
Jack didn't respond. His eyes tracked Heller, but the words didn't come. He felt disconnected from his own body, as if he were watching from somewhere else.
Another man entered behind Heller—a stranger. Heller gestured toward him. "This is Scott. He's here to help. Trained medical staff, a caretaker if you need anything."
Scott offered a tentative smile, but Jack's gaze remained on Heller. There was something about the room. Something tugging at his mind. He blinked again, and suddenly, he knew. He knew where he was.
This washerroom.
The room where Audrey had spent her days after she came back from China. The very place she had been after her own ordeal, where she had tried to heal. Jack's chest tightened. The walls seemed to close in around him, memories flooding back, memories he wasn't ready for. Why had Heller brought him here?
He wanted to ask, to shout, but his voice wouldn't come. Heller continued as if he didn't notice the storm brewing inside Jack. "We brought you here from the hospital earlier. You were sedated, so you wouldn't remember. Thought you could use some rest, and this place... well, it's quiet. I left something for you on the table by the window. Take a look when you feel up to it."
Heller nodded at Scott, and the two left the room, the door clicking softly behind them. Jack lay still, his mind racing. His eyes moved to the table by the window, and with a monumental effort, he forced himself to sit up. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
With shaky hands, he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling as he crossed the room. He hadn't stood since the plane ride back after the exchange, and his legs felt unsteady, but he managed. He reached the table, gripping the back of the nearby chair for support. A small book lay there, its worn leather cover catching the last light of the day.
Jack picked it up, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped open the first page. A photo album. He stared down at the images of a young girl—Audrey. A child, smiling with her mother. But as he turned the pages, her mother disappeared, and Audrey grew older. Her face became more familiar, but the smile faded in some photos, replaced by something more guarded.
He paused on a picture of Audrey as a teenager, her arm around a man—Paul. Jack swallowed hard, flipping the pages faster, past the painful years, until his eyes stopped on something recent. A photo from a Christmas party. Nine years ago, at the DOD. His breath caught as he spotted himself in the crowd, standing near Audrey. This photo hadn't been there before. Heller had added it.
Jack removed the picture from the album, staring at it in his hands. The only photo of him and Audrey together. He closed the album and turned toward the door, gripping the photo tightly.
He needed answers.
Jack walked through thehouse,the corridors half-remembered. He finally found Heller in the kitchen, speaking with Scott. As soon as Scott saw Jack, he rushed forward, but Jack waved him off, his steps determined despite the strain on his body.
Heller turned, noticing the photo in Jack's hand. Their eyes met, and the unspoken question hung between them. Jack's voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
"Why am I here?"
Heller sighed deeply, his expression softening. "Because,Jack... it would have been Audrey's last wish."
Jack stood frozen, his grip tightening on the photo, his thoughts swirling in the gravity of those words. Audrey's last wish. The hope in the back of his mind flickered, but even in the flicker, it refused to die.