The war didn't end with gunfire.
It ended with silence.
Thick. Suffocating. Too loud in its quiet. The kind of silence that was louder than a gunshot
The room where Juhu lay bound stank of blood and smoke, but no one mentioned it. He was still breathing, barely, his head lolled to one side, lips split, and eye swollen shut. The ropes cut into his wrists, but Jay hadn't cared for comfort. He hadn't even let anyone else tie the knots. He'd done it himself.
The mission had succeeded. Juhu's men were either dead or scattered, their compound burned from the inside out. But no one smiled. There was no victory speech. No celebratory drink. Just injuries being treated, clothes stained with sweat and soot, and hearts that felt far too heavy for the body to hold.
Jay sat in the corner, gun still resting in his lap, though the safety had long been flicked on. His eyes never left Juhu's figure. Not even once.
Jack stood at the doorway, watching Jay watch Juhu. He hadn't spoken in almost ten minutes.
The air was thick between them—filled with unspoken things. With blood-soaked grief. With the fear that maybe… maybe they were both changing, and not necessarily for the better.
"Jay," Jack said finally, voice low.
Jay didn't look up.
"Jay, that's enough."
Still no response.
Jack walked over, stood in front of him, and crouched down. He reached for the gun and gently removed it from Jay's fingers.
Jay blinked. Just once.
"I'm not going to shoot him," he said, voice hoarse. "I'm not that merciful."
Jack didn't smile. Didn't joke. He only said, "Then what?"
Jay's jaw clenched. "I want him to know what fear feels like. I want him to lie awake and wonder if today is the day he'll lose everything. Like I did."
"You didn't lose me."
"But I could've." His voice cracked, barely audible. "When I pulled that photo from that corpse's mouth and saw your face... I wasn't thinking about love, Jack. I was thinking about your funeral."
Jack sat down beside him on the dusty floor. Close enough that their knees touched.
"I get it," he said quietly. "But you're scaring me, Jay."
Jay finally looked at him.
And in that look was everything. All the fire. All the chaos. All the silent sobs he hadn't let himself cry. He had built walls, not because he was strong, but because he was afraid of how weak he'd become if they fell.
Jack reached out and took his hand. Their fingers clicked easily.
"Come back to me," Jack whispered. "Don't let this make you into something we can't recognize."
Jay looked down at their joined hands. His knuckles were bruised.
"I don't know how," he said.
Jack leaned in, resting his forehead against Jay's. "Start with this. Just… stay. With me."
Across the hallway, Rin pressed a gauze pad to one of the younger men's arms. Blood soaked through the white, but not enough to panic. Just enough to remember they'd been to war.
Jeff came up beside him with a water bottle and a tired smile.
"Still the gentlest killer I know," he said, offering the bottle.
Rin accepted it with a small nod. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Maybe he hadn't.
"I told you to stay near the back," Rin said softly.
Jeff shrugged. "Didn't seem like a good day to be a coward."
Rin looked at him then, really looked, like he hadn't seen him in a while. His lips trembled slightly, and then he said, in a voice so quiet it could've been missed, "Don't do that again."
"Which part?"
"Make me think I was going to lose you."
Jeff's smile dropped. He stepped closer. "Rin…"
"I know we joke," Rin whispered. "I know that's our thing. But this?" He stopped, swallowed, eyes shining. "I can't lose anyone else. Especially not you."
Jeff was silent for a long time. Then, softly, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I won't die," Jeff said simply. "Not unless you're holding my hand when I go."
Rin sniffled and punched him lightly on the arm. "That's not funny."
"Then don't cry."
"I'm not."
"Good. Because if you cry, I'll cry. And if we both cry, Jay's going to think we're weak, and then it's all over." They won't stop teasing us about it, he said.
Rin almost smiled. Almost. But instead, he reached for Jeff's hand and didn't let go.
Back inside the room, Juhu stirred.
Jay stood.
Jack did too, standing between Jay and the broken man in the chair.
"Let me talk to him," Jack said.
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because you don't need more blood on your hands tonight."
Jay stared at him, then nodded slowly and stepped aside.
Jack walked over to Juhu, crouched down, and tilted his head.
"You picked the wrong people to play with," he said calmly.
Juhu laughed. It came out wet, with a cough of blood.
"You think you've won," he rasped.
Jack didn't flinch. "We're not interested in winning. We're interested in peace. And you?" He gestured at the wounds, "You "don't know how to exist without war."
"I exposed you," Juhu whispered. "You think they'll ever let you two be? You think those fathers of yours—"
Jack smiled coldly. "They already did. You underestimated something, Juhu. Loyalty isn't always to bloodlines. Sometimes it's to the people willing to fight beside you when it counts."
Jay came up behind him, gaze locked on Juhu's ruined face.
Jack glanced at him. "Still want him alive?"
Jay didn't answer right away. Then finally, "Yes."
Jack stepped aside.
Jay moved forward, crouched down to Juhu's level, and leaned in so close their foreheads almost touched.
"Remember this face," he said. "This is the face of the boy you tried to bury. The one who came back not just to haunt you, but to make sure you rot in a cage so dark even the devil forgets your name."
Juhu said nothing.
Jay stood up.
"Take him," he ordered.
The others moved in.
As they dragged Juhu out, Jack reached for Jay's hand again. This time, Jay didn't hesitate.
They walked out together.
Into a new kind of war.
One not fought with bullets, but with memory.
With healing.
With learning how to live again. This was war with their families.