Shadow of Us

Chapter 1 - Julia

The city lights stretched out before me, casting a cold, silvery glow over Prague. As I navigated the winding streets, the neon signs flickered like distant stars, the blaring horns and muffled conversations blending into a symphony of urban life. Yet, amidst this chaotic beauty, I felt a dissonance, a stillness that settled deep within me. One hand gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from tension, while the other rested on the file beside me—his file.

The file my boss had handed to me yesterday weighed heavily under my arm, like a secret I hadn't wanted but now couldn't ignore. It loomed over me, dark and ominous, a specter from my past that refused to be exorcised. My mind drifted back to that moment of revelation, fingers trembling despite all my training, as I flipped it open for the first time. His name, glaring in bold, unforgiving letters, had left me speechless—me, the one who always had a comeback, always knew exactly what to say, what face to show. But this? This was something I hadn't expected.

Seeing his face in that profile photo felt like a punch to the gut, a jarring reminder of the past I had tried so hard to bury. Doctor Thomas Theodore Reed. Those words in ink might as well have been a slap to the face, each detail tearing down the walls I'd built so meticulously around my heart. Every line of his professional record served as a testament to how much he'd moved on while I remained suspended in time, haunted by memories. And mostly, how he had forgotten about me.

The fear that gripped me was unlike anything I had ever experienced—not in any mission, not even under fire. I'd handled high-stakes cases before, guarded high-profile clients without batting an eye, but this... this was different. The moment I saw his name in bold black ink, I felt something close to fear—a sensation I thought had been trained out of me by now. No, this was a different kind of fear. It wasn't the fear of danger, of facing down some external threat, but rather the visceral dread of confronting something I thought I had buried. Of looking into the eyes of someone who once meant everything to me and realizing I'd never really moved on when he did, perfectly as always.

It was a reminder that, despite my training, despite the years of carefully constructed walls, some wounds don't heal. Some merely lie dormant, waiting for the right—or wrong—moment to surge back to life. My heart raced as I considered the prospect of facing him again, a mix of dread and anticipation swirling in my gut. What would his reaction be? Would he see the hurt I'd buried so deep? Would he regret leaving? The questions haunted me as I tried to focus on the road ahead.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain that cool, detached calm I was so practiced at wearing. In just a few minutes, I'd be meeting him again, and I had to be ready—ready to protect him, to put aside my past, and to face the one person who'd ever truly had the power to break me. The thought of his gaze meeting mine sent shivers down my spine, and I felt a rush of anxiety and longing. God, I was prepared to die for him if it meant ensuring his safety. Yet, even as I struggled to regain my composure, his name echoed in my mind like a haunting melody.

I rolled the name over in my thoughts, letting the familiarity of it sting, each syllable dragging up memories I'd fought to bury. He had been more than a man to me back then—he had been my safe haven, my warmth—hell, he'd been my future. And then, without warning, he'd disappeared from my life. No explanations, no goodbyes. Just... gone. I'd spent countless nights trying to make sense of it, aching over what I had done wrong, what I could have changed. After the sleepless nights faded into numbness, I'd spent years hardening myself against ever feeling like that again.

Training became my refuge—fifteen-hour days of grueling workouts, rigorous drills, and relentless practice had transformed me into someone strong, someone who no longer depended on anyone else for validation. I had built a new identity, an armor crafted from pain and betrayal. I was no longer the girl waiting for someone else to make her whole; I had evolved into Agent Monroe, the bulletproof protector, the one who'd rebuilt herself from the rubble of lost love and broken trust.