The Target Was Mine

Trigger

Blood.

The sound of the gunshot echoes louder in my head than it ever could in the halls. The silence afterward is a living thing. A silence so thick it drowns everything—his voice, my breath, the truth.

He stumbles back, hand clutching his side, eyes locked on mine in something that looks too much like disbelief.

"Cassian," I whisper, not even realizing I said his name until the taste of it is on my tongue, coated in ash and metal.

He’s not supposed to be the one.

I was sent here with one mission. One identity. One target.

I studied everything—except his name.

I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know until now.

Until I saw his eyes widen in betrayal.

Until I saw him bleed.

CASSIAN

I always knew there was something dangerous about her.

Wednesday Aurora Lalis—the unreadable girl who never flinched, never cracked, never looked at me with anything but cold disdain.

She was different, and I chased that difference like it could save me.

But I never expected her to try to kill me.

And God help me, even now—bleeding on the floor, chest heaving, pain spreading like fire—I still look at her and think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

"Why?" I choke out. "Why you?"

She says nothing. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Her hands are shaking.

Not because of guilt. No, this is something else.

Shock.

She didn’t know.

WEDNESDAY

It’s a lie that assassins don’t feel.

We’re trained to detach. To remove emotion like it's a tumor.

But right now, I feel everything—his stare, the way his hand trembles, the blood soaking into the white floor beneath him.

I want to scream.

I want to go back.

I want to undo this moment.

But all I do is drop the gun and fall to my knees beside him.

His breath is shallow. His fingers graze mine.

"You... were never supposed to be him," I whisper, pain threading every syllable. "I didn’t know until it was too late."

He gives a bitter smile. "So I wasn’t just a stupid crush. I was a target."

"No," I say immediately. Too fast. Too honest.

And his eyes flash with something—relief, maybe. Hurt. Maybe both.

CASSIAN

"Tell me something," I say, voice raw. "Did anything between us feel real to you?"

Her silence is almost enough to kill me faster than the bullet.

But then she speaks.

"I didn’t mean to fall for you. I wasn’t supposed to."

And that’s when I realize—I’m not the only one who was drowning.

WEDNESDAY

Sirens.

Footsteps.

The real world rushes in, screaming and demanding answers.

But all I hear is the memory of his voice saying, "What if we named her after you?"

Of the fake baby we made. The way he looked at me like I was something more than a mission.

I shot him.

And still, he reached for me.

Still, I held him.

Still, I whispered his name.

"Cassian… please, stay with me."

His eyes start to close. The pain fades from his expression, replaced by something softer.

Something final.