The Quiet After

Jessica moved through the city streets, blending into the ebb and flow of pedestrians, just another face in the crowd.

The neon glow of bars and storefronts reflected in rain-slick pavement, casting fractured colors across the night. Conversations swirled around her. There was laughter, arguments, and murmured confessions exchanged over cigarettes.

Life. Messy, unrelenting, alive. She exhaled, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. She had spent so much of her existence chasing ghosts, fighting shadows, unraveling the secrets of the dead. Now, she was the one who had to decide what to do with the truth.

She passed a bar with a wooden sign hanging above the door. It was small, dimly lit, the kind of place where no one asked questions.

Jessica hesitated. Then, without thinking too hard, she stepped inside.

The bar was old, the kind that had been here longer than the city around it. The interior was lined with dark wood and worn leather booths, the scent of whiskey and time settling deep into the walls.

She slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, pulling her jacket closer. Her ribs ached faintly. Bruises she hadn’t noticed before made themselves known, but for the first time in days, no one was chasing her.

The bartender, a man with tired eyes and a face that had seen too much, glanced at her, then poured a whiskey without asking.

Jessica smirked. “I look like I need it, huh?”

He shrugged. “Everyone who comes here does.”

Jessica picked up the glass, letting the amber liquid catch the light.

She had sat in bars like this all over the world. Kyoto. London. Belize. She had drowned herself in whiskey when the weight of her own existence had threatened to consume her, but this time, it wasn’t an escape she was looking for.

She took a slow sip, the warmth burning down her throat. She let herself sit in the moment. Not planning. Not analyzing. Just… existing.

She set the glass down and exhaled. “Where am I?” she asked the bartender.

He raised a brow. “You don’t know?”

Jessica gave a half-smile. “Let’s just say I wasn’t paying attention when I got here.”

He leaned against the counter. “You’re in Madrid.”

Jessica blinked. Madrid.

That… made sense. If Mr. Black had left her in a city instead of some remote compound, it would be a place like this. A city with enough layers to disappear into. A city that had been built on history and buried secrets.

Jessica smirked, shaking her head. “Figures.”

The bartender gave her a look. “You running from something?”

Jessica took another sip of whiskey, considering. “Not anymore,” she said.

* * *

Jessica pulled out her phone. There were no missed calls. No messages. Which meant Leanna and Olivia had no idea where she was.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. Then, with a sigh, she scrolled down her contacts and pressed Sam’s name.

The call rang twice before his voice came through, steady, familiar.

“Jess.”

Jessica closed her eyes for half a second, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “Where are you?”

Jessica exhaled. “Madrid.”

Another pause. “That where you meant to be?”

She let out a soft laugh. “Not exactly.”

Sam’s voice stayed level. “You okay?”

Jessica swirled the whiskey in her glass. “Yeah. Just… needed a minute.”

She heard the unspoken understanding in his silence.

Then he said, “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

Jessica swallowed. “Yeah.”

Another long silence. Then quieter, softer: “And?”

Jessica stared at the bar counter, her fingers running absently over the rim of her glass.

And?  What was she supposed to say? That she was carrying something older than any government, older than any empire? That she was the last of something that had existed for centuries? That for the first time in her life, she had made a choice that no one had forced her into?

Jessica exhaled.

“I’m still here,” she said.

Sam was quiet for a moment. Then he let out a slow breath.

“That’s good enough for me.”

Jessica smiled faintly. For now, it was good enough for her too.