After the Fire

The rain started somewhere over the Atlantic, sweeping in from the east, drenching the city in sheets of cold silver. It blurred the neon reflections on the wet pavement, turned car headlights into halos, and drowned out the distant murmurs of late-night traffic.

Jessica sat by the window in her rented apartment, watching it all with a whiskey glass in her hand. The drink was untouched. She wasn’t sure why she had poured it. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because she needed something heavy in her palm to keep from picking up the file.

The dossier sat on the small table beside her, its edges damp from condensation.

Her name was printed in stark red ink. JESSICA SANCHEZ. TOP SECRET.

She had taken it from Mr. Black’s office, carried it halfway across the world, placed it within arm’s reach.

And yet, she hadn’t opened it. Not yet.

Outside, the city pulsed in slow motion. The world hadn’t ended. But it had changed. Dominion was fractured. Their network severed, their leaders suddenly stripped of control. The experiment was over.

And yet, Jessica couldn’t shake the feeling that the war had just begun.

The apartment was temporarily neutral ground. No attachments. No memories. Just a place to breathe. She heard the front door open behind her, followed by the quiet shuffle of boots on hardwood.

Leanna entered the room. Jessica didn’t turn. “I left the door unlocked?”

Leanna let out a dry laugh. “No, I just walked through the wall.”

Jessica smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She felt Leanna watching her, assessing.

“You gonna open it?”

Jessica exhaled slowly, rolling the whiskey glass between her fingers. “Would it change anything?”

Leanna sat on the arm of the couch, crossing her arms. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s got your name on it. Seems like someone wanted you to know.”

Jessica tapped a finger against the glass, watching the ice shift. Someone had wanted her to see. But that was the question, wasn’t it? Was it truth, or just another carefully curated illusion?

She had spent so long chasing answers, peeling back layers, burning through every lie that had been placed in front of her. And yet, she hesitated.

Leanna studied her. “Jess… You don’t have to do this alone.”

Jessica finally looked at her. “Haven’t I always?”

Leanna’s jaw tightened. “No.”

Jessica exhaled, feeling something tighten in her throat. She was exhausted. She reached for the file. Paused. And then she pushed it away.

Not yet. Not tonight.

Leanna didn’t push. She just nodded, standing up. “Olivia’s in the other room. She said the news is already spinning this in twenty different directions.”

Jessica smirked faintly. “Let me guess, government cover-ups, rogue operatives, coup attempts?”

Leanna shrugged. “Some are saying it was an AI glitch. Others are calling it divine intervention.”

Jessica exhaled. The truth was already dissolving into myth. That was Mr. Black’s greatest trick. He made truth look like fiction and lies feel like prophecy.

Maybe she had done the same.

She drained her whiskey, setting the glass down. “We still have work to do.”

Leanna smirked. “I figured.”

Because the war wasn’t over. It never was.

* * *

Jessica found Olivia at the dining table, three screens open in front of her, each streaming different angles of the chaos.

“They’re scrambling,” Olivia said without looking up. “Governments are in lockdown mode. Leaders are confused, some are missing, and a few are trying to pretend nothing happened at all.”

Jessica leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “What about Dominion?”

Olivia tapped the keyboard, shifting screens. “Their infrastructure collapsed, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone. The people behind it—whoever’s left—will regroup. They always do.”

Jessica exhaled. Cut off one head, another takes its place. She thought of Mr. Black’s smirk. His words in the dark.

“The war never ends, Jessica.”

And she hated how much she believed.

* * *

By the time she left the apartment, the rain had slowed, turning the streets slick and quiet. She walked without thinking, past shuttered cafes and dark storefronts, the city a muted hum in the background.

Her feet carried her to his doorstep.

Jessica hesitated Then knocked.

Sam opened the door, looking like he had expected her all along. He said nothing, just stepped aside to let her in.

The air smelled like coffee and saltwater. Jessica exhaled, slipping out of her damp coat, watching him.

Sam studied her carefully. “You look tired.”

Jessica smirked. “I’m always tired.”

He nodded, understanding. He poured a drink, setting it in front of her. “Whiskey?”

Jessica shook her head. “Not tonight.”

A flicker of something crossed his face, approval, maybe. Or relief.

She sat across from him, fingers tracing the rim of the glass. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly she said, “I killed him.”

Sam didn’t flinch.

Jessica swallowed, her voice steady. “I killed Mr. Black.”

Sam watched her carefully. “Did it change anything?”

She thought about it. About the weight in her chest. About the file still sitting unopened in the apartment. Then she shook her head. “No.”

Because killing him wasn’t the victory she thought it would be. It wasn’t an end, just another move in a game she didn’t want to play anymore.

Sam exhaled. “So what now?”

Jessica looked at him. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, she didn’t have an answer. So she gave him the only truth she knew.

“I don’t know.”

Sam studied her, then stood, walking around the table. He took her hand. Held it. Steady, warm.

“You’ll figure it out,” he murmured.

Jessica closed her eyes. For tonight, that was enough. For tonight, she was just Jessica Sanchez. No past, no experiment, no war waiting in the shadows. Just herself.

For the first time in a long time, that felt real.

* * *

The fire crackled low in the hearth, embers glowing in the dimly lit room. The scent of burning wood mixed with salt air, drifting in through the open window. Jessica sat curled on the worn leather couch, knees drawn up, the whiskey glass balanced between her fingers.

The dossier sat on the table between them, untouched.

Sam leaned against the armrest, his own drink forgotten. He had been watching her for the last few minutes, waiting. Letting her sit with whatever thoughts were warring in her head.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m guessing you haven’t read it.”

Jessica exhaled through her nose. “Not yet.”

Sam tilted his head. “Because you don’t want to?”

She let her gaze linger on the folder. Her entire truth, sealed inside. The final piece of the puzzle. Or maybe just another carefully planted lie.

“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted.

Sam smirked faintly, stretching his legs out. “You ever read Thus Spoke Zarathustra?”

Jessica arched a brow. “I’m not drunk enough for Nietzsche.”

“Humor me.”

She sighed, rolling the glass in her palm. “Yeah. Nietzsche talks about the three transformations. The camel, the lion, and the child.”

Sam nodded. “Right. First, you take on the burdens of everything, duty, knowledge, expectation. You become the camel, carrying the weight.” He gestured toward her. “Sound familiar?”

Jessica’s lips twitched. “A little.”

“Then comes the lion. You fight back, you destroy what was imposed on you. You tear it all down.”

Jessica’s grip on the glass tightened. The war. The chase. Burning everything Vanguard and Dominion had built.

She exhaled. “And then the child.”

Sam leaned forward slightly, waiting.

Jessica rubbed a thumb along the rim of her glass. “The child is… creation. Not burdened by the past, not defined by the struggle. Just existing, free to make something new.”

Sam’s gaze didn’t waver. “Where do you think you are?”

Jessica let the question settle.

She had been the camel, Jason, blindly carrying the expectations of a life that had been designed for him. She had been the lion, Jessica, the woman who burned her past down and killed anyone who tried to put her back in a cage.

But was she the child now?

She let out a slow breath. “I think I’m still figuring that out.”

Sam smirked. “Well, you don’t have to get there overnight.”

Jessica smirked back. “That’s very un-Nietzsche of you.”

Sam lifted his glass. “Zorba would approve, though.”

Jessica huffed a laugh. “Zorba would tell me to dance, eat, drink, and screw myself into the next life.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Jessica didn’t answer. She just took a slow sip of whiskey, letting it burn its way down.

The fire crackled again, filling the silence.

After a while, Sam leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “You also read The Little Prince, right?”

Jessica glanced at him, amused. “Are we just running through my entire reading list tonight?”

“Maybe.” He nodded toward the folder. “What do you think the prince would do?”

Jessica exhaled, tilting her head. “He’d probably say that what’s inside the file doesn’t matter.”

Sam raised a brow. “Why?”

Jessica ran a finger along the edge of the dossier, tracing the creases in the paper.

“Because it’s just a shell,” she murmured. “Like his rose. It’s not the flower that matters. It’s the time and love you’ve given it. That’s what makes it special.”

Sam studied her. “And what have you given this?”

Jessica didn’t answer immediately.

She had given years of her life to chasing ghosts. To unravel the lie that was her existence. And for what? Another document to tell her who she was? Another version of the truth, written by men who had only ever seen her as an experiment?

She swallowed, pulse steady.

“I think I’m done letting them tell me who I am.”

Sam nodded, slow and approving.

Jessica picked up the dossier. It felt heavier than it should. Not from weight, but from history.

She turned toward the fire. For the first time in her life, she made the decision without hesitation. She tossed the folder into the flames.

The edges curled instantly, black ink dissolving into smoke. The embers ate through the paper, consuming names, dates, a history Jessica would never read.

She watched it burn, feeling something unravel inside her. Not fear. Not regret. Just lightness.

Jessica leaned back against the couch, stretching her legs over Sam’s lap. He didn’t push them off. Instead, he let the silence settle, let the fire crackle, let her have the space to breathe. And for the first time in a long time, Jessica felt real. No more pawns. No more games.

The past was gone. And the future? It was finally hers to decide.

* * *

The sun broke over the horizon in slow, golden streaks, filtering through the gauzy curtains of Sam’s apartment. The air still smelled of burned paper and whiskey, though the fire in the hearth had long since died.

Jessica lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her body tangled in the sheets, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the waves beyond the window.

For once, there was no urgency pressing against her ribs. No mission. No chase. No specters of the past lurking in the edges of her mind, demanding answers. She had burned the last of them last night.

The past was gone. She had let it go and yet, what now?

She turned onto her side, watching Sam as he slept. His breath was deep, steady. A man who had never been reprogrammed, rewritten, or conditioned to be something he wasn’t.

Jessica envied that. But she had something he didn’t. She had a choice.

She reached over, brushing a fingertip lightly over his arm. His skin was warm, solid. Real.

His eyes cracked open, groggy but alert. He always woke like that, like a man ready for whatever the day threw at him.

Jessica smirked. “You snore.”

Sam grunted. “Lie.”

She hummed, propping herself up on one elbow. “Guess you’ll never know.”

His hand found her hip under the sheet, a lazy, familiar touch. “You’re still here.”

Jessica tilted her head. “Didn’t think I would be?”

Sam shrugged. “You’ve been running for a long time.”

Jessica exhaled, fingers tracing small circles on the sheet. “Maybe I’m tired of running.”

Sam watched her, searching her face.

He didn’t press. He never did. He just nodded and said, “Good.”

Jessica smirked. “That’s it? No grand speech?”

He grinned faintly, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You’ve had enough speeches.”

She chuckled, laying back against the pillow, watching the ceiling again. God, she had.

* * *

Somewhere outside, the world was moving.

Jessica knew that today, right now, some intelligence agency was trying to piece together what had happened. Governments were scrambling to explain why their leaders had woken up from a fog they didn’t remember being in. The remnants of Dominion were surely regrouping, trying to salvage whatever was left of their grand plan. But none of it felt like her problem anymore.

Leanna and Olivia had already started looking into new cases, smaller things, things that weren’t tangled in the deep, rotting roots of the conspiracy that had ruled their lives for too long.

And Jessica? She was still figuring it out. For the first time in years, she didn’t have a target. No grand objective. No enemies pressing in. It was terrifying and freeing. Maybe she’d stay here a little while. Find out what it felt like to exist without a war. Maybe she’d even let herself be happy. She wasn’t sure she knew how. But she was willing to try.

Jessica turned onto her side again, watching Sam. The past was ash. The future was blank. And for once, she wasn’t afraid to write it.

Look for Jessica Sanchez to return in