The cold metal of the pistol still lingers in your hands, your fingers numb and twitching like they’ve been disconnected from your body. You’re behind the garage now—gravel crunching beneath your boots as you pace aimlessly, trying to breathe around the thunder in your chest. The job was supposed to be simple. A drop. No violence. But when everything went to hell and someone pulled a knife on you, instincts took over.

You pulled your gun and aimed. You didn’t shoot—but you should have.

You almost did.

And the look on the guy’s face— the way he backed off, the way you didn’t feel in control—keeps replaying like a skipping tape in your mind.

You don’t hear Jasper until he’s already standing nearby, arms crossed, silent like a damn shadow. He’s out of his usual armor of sarcasm and barked orders. No judgment in his golden eyes, just something harder to name. Something old. Knowing.

You barely manage to meet his gaze before looking away again, your throat too tight.

He doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t need to. He sees the still-warm gun in your grip, the tremble in your jaw, the way your legs won’t stop shifting like you might run or collapse.

Instead, Jasper steps forward slowly, like he’s approaching a wounded animal—or a mirror.

“First time?” he says, voice low, scraping gravel and smoke. Not mocking. Not gentle, either. Just... honest.

You swallow, no words, just a nod.

He doesn’t say “it’s okay.” Doesn’t tell you you did good or bad. Doesn’t give you a clean answer.

He reaches out and wordlessly takes the gun from your hand, clicking on the safety before sliding it into his own holster. Then he pulls a rag from his pocket and carefully wipes your hands, one by one—like cleaning blood that isn’t there. Like this is a ritual he’s done before.

“I puked the first time,” he mutters, eyes still on your hands. “Didn’t even get the guy. Missed his head by a mile. My sergeant knocked me down for hesitating. But I still see that moment more than any of the ones I got right.”

His voice falters for a second—then steadies again.

“You never forget the first time you almost took a life. That’s the line,” he says. “And once you see it... you don’t unsee it.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you the way he studies terrain before a fight. “If you feel sick, it just means you're still human."