A few days later, Julian sits on a bench at the gate, gazing out the wide airport window. The airplane gleams in the morning light, its presence steady, inevitable. His eyes grow deep, thoughtful, as if searching far beyond the horizon.
"So… I'm going to Mellany," he murmurs, the words carrying both gravity and quiet resolve.
An hour into the flight, the cabin lights dim to a soft blue, then fade completely. The hum of the engines becomes the only constant sound, a low vibration beneath the silence of a hundred sleeping passengers. Shadows stretch across the aisle, faces hidden in half-light.
Julian sits by the window, his seat pressed against the curve of the fuselage. Beyond the glass, there is nothing but endless darkness—an ocean of night sky, scattered faintly with stars, as if the heavens themselves are holding their breath.
Lord, wherever You lead me, I trust in You, Julian prays in his heart, his gaze fixed on the void outside.
The words are silent yet steady, flowing from a place deeper than thought.
Slowly, his eyes soften. The present slips away. And like a tide pulling him under, he sinks into memory—the memory he has carried for more than a hundred years. The memory he cannot forget, no matter how many decades have passed, no matter how many seasons have turned.
"Hannah, you're back!" Angela's voice rang out with sudden joy as Hannah and I stepped into the old factory building we now called home. Outside, the night had already settled—windows darkened, the air carried that faint metallic chill that always clung to the city after sundown.
Hannah and Angela embraced tightly, the kind of hug that spoke of both relief and surprise. From the staircase above, several of the society members—some just returned from long missions, others newly joined—descended one by one, their faces alight with curiosity and welcome. They gathered around Hannah, introducing themselves, eager to know the woman who had once walked with us and had now returned.
I stayed a little apart, half in shadow, watching it all.
"You're smiling a lot, June," a voice came from behind.
Parker, broad-shouldered and weary-looking after his year-long mission, clapped my shoulder with a grin.
Caught, I instinctively pressed my lips together, hiding the smile that had betrayed me.
"She was with us while you were gone," I said with a shrug that was meant to look casual, though my voice carried more warmth than I intended. "I guess… Everyone was happy she's back."
Across the room, Angela's voice cut through again.
"So, did you meet your family?" she asked, her tone soft but curious.
"Yes," Hannah replied with a gentle nod. "I did. And we spent good time together." Her smile was faint but real, tinged with something unspoken.
I watched her closely, studying the way her eyes lowered for a moment, as though protecting a piece of her heart.
Angela tilted her head.
"And why did you come back? I mean, I thought you went to live with your family for good?"
The air seemed to still for a heartbeat.
Hannah hesitated.
Then, with quiet resolve, she said, "I'll be joining the mission. With all of you."
At Hannah's words, the air shifted.
One by one, the seven members present—Angela, Parker, and the rest—turned their eyes toward her, each gaze wide with surprise. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath.
Angela's expression grew sharp as she turned to me.
"June," she asked, her voice careful, "did you ask Hannah to join? Did you take her away from her family?"
Before I could answer, Hannah stepped forward, her voice steady, almost urgent.
"No, he didn't. I insisted on joining."
I turned my head toward her, my lips parting to speak.
"If you change your mind anytime, Hannah, you could always—"
But she cut across my words with a shake of her head, her eyes unwavering.
"No. I knew this mission was dangerous. That's why it needed more people. And it needed a woman, too. I wanted to be part of it. Even if my help was small, I wanted to give it."
Her voice carried conviction, a quiet strength that silenced the room.
Angela's features softened, a gentle smile forming as she looked at Hannah.
"You'll be a great help. Thank you, Hannah. We really appreciated it."
Parker nodded, his grin warm.
"We're glad to have one more comrade on this mission."
Angela clapped her hands softly as if closing the discussion.
"Well, had you had dinner yet?"
"Yes," Hannah replied with a small smile. "June and I ate on the ship before we came."
"Good," Angela said, her tone turning tender as she placed a hand on Hannah's shoulder. "Then go up and get some sleep. The night was already deep." She gave her a gentle push toward the staircase, then looked past her at me. "June, you should rest too. You've traveled far to bring Hannah back."
At that, Hannah paused on the staircase. She turned her head, and our eyes met.
For that fleeting second, my heart beat faster. Hannah's lips curved into the faintest smile before she turned away, following Angela up the stairs. Their steps echoed softly against the wooden staircase, fading slowly as they climbed higher.
I remained rooted to the spot, watching the back of her figure disappear. That's when I felt a light nudge at my elbow.
"So, June…" Parker's voice came low, mischievous, carrying a grin I didn't have to see to recognize. His eyes darted toward Hannah's retreating figure, then back to me. "You like her, don't you?"
I froze. The words hung in the air, dangerous, too direct. My throat tightened. For a moment, silence was all I could give.
Parker chuckled under his breath, tilting his head as if savoring my reaction.
"You're wondering how I knew, right? It's written all over you. The way you look at her—it's too deep, too careful. It's obvious." His grin widened as he leaned closer. "And you went all the way out there just to bring her back. That girl… Hannah."
My gaze flickered to him, and one corner of my lips betrayed me, curling upward in the faintest, reluctant smile.
"Maybe…" I whispered.
Parker's eyes widened, his mischievous grin shifting into surprise.
"So you're admitting it?"
I shrugged, giving him nothing more.
"Good night, Parker." My voice was calm, dismissive. I patted his shoulder lightly and turned, stepping toward the staircase.
"Wait—!" Parker's voice chased me as his footsteps hurried behind.
I smiled and kept climbing the stairs.
Parker was about ten years younger than me, closer to Hannah's age. I first met him a decade ago, back when he was running from a prison camp with soldiers chasing him. I helped him escape and brought him into our building—that was how we began living together.
Since then, I had taught him how to defend himself against soldiers, how to handle various weapons not to harm, but to protect and save those in danger. Parker proved to be a quick learner. He chose to join our society, adapted swiftly, and took part in countless missions that freed captives during the war.
While Parker was away on one of those missions abroad, I met Hannah. She lived with us for a time before leaving—and by the time Parker returned, she was gone. So this was practically their first time meeting.
And Parker—always so quick, so sensitive—had already begun prodding at the feelings I tried to keep hidden for Hannah.
Later that night, I sat at the desk by the window. The small lamp glowed softly, and with pen in hand, I wrote in my journal.
I read the end of the entry as I wrote it.
"Thank You, Lord my Savior, for bringing me back safely. And for Hannah as well."
I closed the book and let the night breeze brush against my hair. Bowing my head, I prayed.
"Jesus Christ, just as You saved me by giving up Your life, lead me to give even my own if it meant saving those I could."
When I finally lay down, closing my eyes, a faint smile touched my lips.
Knowing that Hannah was here, in the same house, under the same roof, I couldn't help but smile.
I loved her. I loved her—next only to Jesus, my Savior.
Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, I stepped out of the building and wandered toward the lakeside path nearby.
As soon as I entered the quiet stretch of the walkway, I froze.
Hannah was there. Dressed in a white shirt and light blue denim wide pants, she stood before the still water, her posture calm, her eyes gently closed. The soft breeze toyed with her hair as if even the wind dared not disturb her. She looked as though she were praying.
For a moment, I only watched her. There was something serene—sacred, even—about the way she stood there, her presence blending into the quiet lake and the yet-unbroken dawn.
I took a few slow steps closer.
She winced lightly, as though sensing me, and then her eyes fluttered open. When she turned, our eyes met, and the world seemed to still around us.
"Hey," Hannah said, breaking into a grin.
Her smile caught the light of the lake, making it glisten in a way that made my chest tighten. Her wide, round eyes, her soft lips, the effortless warmth in her expression—every detail resonated deeply inside me.
"You woke up early," I said, my voice dropping lower, steadier, though I couldn't explain why.
Hannah nodded, her grin softening into something more casual, more familiar.
"Yup. You too?" she asked.