The people at Farspace were watching Caleb closely, testing his loyalty. He knew the house would go up in flames today—it was all part of the mission. Every step was calculated. Every risk accounted for. All but one.

She came back.

The moment he saw her standing there, everything stopped. Damn it. No, no... not her. Not now.

Panic surged in his chest like a fire alarm. She wasn't supposed to be here. She couldn't be here. Not today.

He tried to stay calm, tried to push her away with words. "You shouldn't have come back," he said, his voice sharp, cold—each word a warning in disguise. He prayed she'd understand, that she'd turn and run.

But she didn't.

She stood her ground, stubborn as ever, and the clock kept ticking. Time was running out.

Desperation took over. In one swift motion, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the door. No time for gentleness. No time for explanations. Just survival.

He shoved her outside and slammed the door behind her. The explosion came a second later.

The force of it knocked her off her feet. Debris rained down. Smoke swallowed everything.

But Caleb didn't check. He couldn't. Farspace agents were already there, eyes locked on him. If he showed even a flicker of concern, it would all be over.

So he stood still. Silent. Stone-faced. And all he could do was pray—Please... let her be alive.

His unwavering loyalty earned him the rank of colonel in Farspace. But the explosion came at a cost.

His memory was fractured. Childhood moments lingered in scattered fragments. His teenage years were almost entirely gone, like pages ripped from a book.

Yet one thing remained intact—her. And the feelings he held for her.

She lived in his mind, a constant presence. A whisper in the back of his thoughts. But there was one cruel twist—He couldn't remember her face.

Every night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he searched for her in the shadows of his memory.

Blue eyes... dark hair...? Brown eyes... maybe red hair...? Green eyes... blonde...?

Each image felt real, until another replaced it. A cycle of uncertainty.

He was completely lost—Grasping at fleeting visions, clinging to guesses.

And every night, he drifted off to sleep imagining her in every way his mind could conjure... hoping that, one day, the real face of the woman who haunted him would return to him.

As always, Caleb was at his post, lost in thought. He didn't notice the footsteps until they were right behind him. Turning, he saw one of the station's subordinates standing stiffly, clearly with a message to deliver.

"There's a girl in the interrogation room, Commander Caleb," the man reported quickly. "HQ wants you to handle it."

Without waiting for a response, the subordinate left, leaving Caleb alone with the weight of yet another mission he couldn't refuse.

Of course, disobedience wasn't an option. So he followed orders, silently stepping into the interrogation room.

He barely glanced up—until he did.

There she was. Tied to a chair. Wrists bound. Head low.

But it wasn't the restraints that made his heart stop.

He knew this girl. Like a lightning strike to the mind—it was her.

His. The woman who had haunted his fractured memories.

His throat went dry. His thoughts scattered. And then... she looked up. Recognition sparked in her eyes too.

No. She couldn't do that. Not here. Too many cameras. Too many ears. Too many watching eyes.

So he did the only thing he could—he put on the mask. The cold, detached persona of Colonel Caleb.

"You were at the blast site. What were you doing there?" His voice was clipped, sharp. He sat across from her, eyes empty, tone professional. He ignored her gaze. Ignored the quiet plea in her voice. He had to.

He couldn't let anyone take her away from him again.

So he began the interrogation—merciless and cold. Each question a dagger. Each silence, a scream.

He knew he was hurting her. Saw the pain flash across her face.

But he had no choice. This was the only way to protect her—Even if it was breaking her in the process.