What Remains

The whiskey burned.

Jessica took another sip, rolling it over her tongue before swallowing, letting the fire settle low in her stomach. The bottle sat beside her on the table, half-empty, the condensation slick against the wood. The beach house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the walls, the hum of the overhead fan.

She stared at the glass in her hand. Everything was supposed to feel different. She had pulled the trigger. She had watched Whitaker bleed out onto the floor. The facility was gone, erased from existence. Every trace of what she was supposed to be—burned. And yet, she felt no lighter.

Her fingers tightened around the glass. Is this a game worth playing? She had spent years chasing the truth. Digging into the past, following the breadcrumbs Vanguard had left behind. Every time she thought she was on the verge of understanding, she ended up with more questions than answers.

Now, she would never know. The truth had burned with the facility, and she had been the one to set it alight.

She took another drink, and for the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake.

---

“She’s drinking again.”

Leanna stood by the window, arms crossed, watching as the last of the sunlight faded into the horizon. Olivia sat on the couch, laptop open but untouched. The air between them was thick with unspoken concerns.

“She’s always drinking now,” Olivia murmured. “More than before.”

Leanna exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “She’s spiraling. And I don’t know how to stop it.”

Olivia hesitated. “She’s… changing. Don’t you feel it?”

Leanna nodded, her expression dark. “Yeah.”

Jessica had always carried ghosts with her, but this was different. There was something hollow in her now.

“She’s our sister,” Olivia said quietly. “We can’t let her do this to herself.”

Leanna’s jaw tightened. “Then we stop her.”

---

Jessica barely looked up when Leanna and Olivia entered the room. The medal and the pawn sat side by side on the table in front of her—one gleaming with past glory, the other pale and unfinished. Proof of two lives. Neither felt like hers anymore.

“You’ve had enough,” Leanna said, reaching for the bottle.

Jessica yanked it back, her grip iron-tight. “Not your call.”

Leanna’s temper flared, but Olivia placed a hand on her arm, shaking her head. This wasn’t about a fight.

Olivia sat across from Jessica, her voice calm but firm. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Jessica let out a short, humorless laugh. “I killed a man.”

Silence.

Leanna and Olivia exchanged a glance. This was the first time she had admitted it out loud.

“You did what you had to do,” Olivia said softly.

Jessica’s fingers tightened around the glass. “That’s what they always say, isn’t it?” She looked up, meeting Olivia’s gaze. “What if I’m just getting good at it?”

Leanna stepped forward. “You are not them, Jess.”

Jessica exhaled slowly. “Aren’t I?”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unrelenting.

Then, finally, Olivia spoke. “We love you. We don’t want to lose you.”

Jessica’s throat tightened. She looked away, swallowing against the knot in her chest.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t watch.”

She stood, grabbed the Olympic medal from the table, and walked out. The pawn remained upright in the center of the table as if it was still guarding its queen.

---

The ocean stretched out before her, dark and endless. The wind tangled in her hair, the taste of salt heavy on her lips. Jessica held the Olympic medal between her fingers, feeling the weight of it.

It had once meant everything. Proof that she was someone. Proof that she had achieved something real. But she knew the truth now. She had never deserved it. The medal felt like a souvenir from someone else’s story. She took a slow breath and threw it into the sea.

The metal caught the moonlight once before vanishing beneath the waves.

Jessica watched the ripples fade, then walked away.

---

She wasn’t sure how she had ended up there.

Her feet had carried her through the streets, past empty storefronts and flickering streetlights. Her feet had wandered. Her mind hadn’t. But when she stopped, this was where she’d ended up. The only place that had ever felt like choosing, not being chosen. until she stood outside Sam’s door.

She knocked once. Then again.

The door opened.

Sam studied her for a long moment. He didn’t ask why she was there. He just stepped aside, letting her in.

The house was warm, filled with the scent of bourbon and old books. It was familiar. It was real.

Jessica sank onto the couch, exhaling as Sam poured them both a drink.

“Talk to me,” he said.

She did.

Everything. The facility. The copies. Whitaker. The gun. The weight of it all pressing against her ribcage.

Sam listened. He didn’t try to justify it. He didn’t tell her she had done the right thing. He just listened. And when the words finally ran out, when the silence settled between them, Sam reached for her hand.

“You’re not a ghost, Jessica.”

She swallowed. “Then what am I?”

His thumb traced over her knuckles. “You.”

Jessica closed her eyes. For the first time in weeks, the hum in her skull quieted.

They drank. They talked. They made love. And for a little while, the world outside didn’t exist.

---

Jessica stood on Sam’s balcony, wrapped in nothing but the night air, watching the tide roll in. She had burned the past. She had erased every version of herself Vanguard had tried to create. She had taken a life. And yet—she was still here. She was still Jessica. She had lost so much. But she had Sam. She had Leanna. Olivia. Hannah. Kevin. She had her own damn life.

Jessica closed her eyes, inhaled the salty air, and let the past slip through her fingers. She had spent a lifetime running from versions of herself other people made. But this one—this Jessica—was hers. It was time to stop chasing ghosts. It was time to start writing the rest. It was time to start living.

Jessica Sanchez will return in 
Dominion Protocol Volume 7: Shadows of Tokyo