25. Blood Ties

The air in the room felt thick, pressing against Leah's skin like a weight she couldn't shake.

She sat stiffly in the old wooden chair, hands curled into fists against her knees, pulse roaring in her ears.

"Taken."

The word rattled in her skull.

Not dead.

Not gone.

Taken.

Leah's voice, low, razor-edged:

"By who?"

Grandma Mei's fingers traced the edge of her blanket, slow and deliberate.

"By the people who made you."

Leah's chest tightened, a slow burn curling up her spine.

"The labs."

A soft nod.

Her grandmother's voice, calm but cutting:

"She was a threat to them, Leah. And threats don't get to walk free."

Leah swallowed hard, her voice coming out cold, sharp:

"Then why take her? Why not just—"

She cut herself off before she could say the word.

Before she could admit what she had always assumed.

Grandma Mei didn't flinch.

"Because she had something they wanted."

A pause.

Then—

"You."

The world tilted.

Leah blinked once, twice, her mind fighting to catch up.

"Me?"

Grandma Mei's gaze didn't waver.

"She was already pregnant when they came for her."

The air ripped out of Leah's lungs.

Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.

"You're saying—" Her voice cut off, uneven.

Grandma Mei's voice was soft but absolute:

"They didn't just take her, Leah. They took you, too."

A slow, burning silence.

Leah's breath felt too shallow, too sharp.

"No."

The word came instinctively, a rejection, a shield against the weight of it.

"No, I grew up here. I—"

Her grandmother's voice didn't rise, didn't press—just stayed steady, quiet, unshakable.

"Did you?"

Leah froze.

Because suddenly, she wasn't sure.

Her memories—flashes of shadows, rooms too white, hands too cold.

A childhood that always felt fractured, incomplete, like she had been placed in a life that had already started without her.

A cold shudder ran down her spine.

"How long?" Her voice came out thin, uneven. "How long was I gone?"

Grandma Mei's gaze softened, something sad flickering behind her sharp eyes.

"You came back when you were almost four."

Leah's throat locked.

"Back?"

Her grandmother nodded.

"He brought you here."

Leah stilled.

Everything in her body went tight, coiled, unsteady.

"He?"

A soft exhale.

Grandma Mei's fingers curled slightly, pressing against the blanket.

"Your father."

Leah went still.

The air thickened, cracked, shifted into something dangerous.

Her father.

A man she never knew. A man she never even thought about.

A ghost.

"Who was he?"

Grandma Mei's voice, low, final, and unshakable:

"A soldier."

Leah's pulse pounded.

Her voice, hoarse, raw:

"His name?"

A long pause.

Then—her grandmother's voice dropped to something quiet, edged with something deeper than sorrow.

"I don't know his real name."

Leah's fingers tightened, frustration flaring hot in her chest.

"You're lying."

"No."

Grandma Mei's gaze didn't falter, didn't break.

"He never told me. But I know what he was."

A slow breath.

"He was high up, Leah. Deep in the command chain."

Leah's vision blurred for a second, her mind trying to fit the pieces together, to make sense of something that had never been given to her.

"He brought me back." The words felt foreign on her tongue.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Her grandmother's eyes softened, just a fraction.

"Because he loved you."

Leah's chest ached, burned, tore open.

She had spent her whole life not belonging to anyone—and now, suddenly, she had been wanted.

Protected.

By a father she never knew.

By a mother who never left.

Her breath came shaky, uneven.

"And then what?"

Her grandmother's voice dipped low, edged in something unspoken.

"Then... he disappeared."

The words cut straight through her.

Leah's voice, rough and splintered:

"They killed him, didn't they?"

A pause.

Then—her grandmother's voice, soft but razor-sharp:

"That's what I believed, too."

A beat.

"Until last year."

Leah's stomach dropped.

Her hands curled tight, nails digging into her skin.

"What happened last year?"

Grandma Mei exhaled, slow.

"He came to see me."

The world snapped, sharp and shattering.

Leah's breath hitched.

"He's alive?"

A slow, steady nod.

"And he left something for you."

Her grandmother reached for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a small, sealed case.

A military insignia glinted in the dim light.

Cold metal.

A past she never knew, waiting inside.

Grandma Mei placed the sealed case gently in Leah's hands, her fingers lingering for just a second.

Her voice, low and steady:

"He said… it was time you knew."

Leah stared at it, the cold metal biting against her palms.

It felt heavy. Too heavy.

Not because of the weight.

But because of what it meant.

Her mother.

Her father.

A past she had never been given. A truth buried in silence.

And now—

It was hers.

She swallowed hard, but before she could speak, her grandmother's voice came again—softer this time, but no less firm.

"Leah."

Leah lifted her gaze, meeting the steady warmth of those dark, knowing eyes.

"I have always known you were meant for more than this place."

Leah's chest tightened, something burning deep in her ribs.

"You are not made to be caged, child. Not by your past. Not by fear. Not by the ghosts of people who have already lost."

A pause.

Then—gentler:

"You are meant to live."

The words hit deep.

And for a moment, Leah felt small again, sitting cross-legged on the floor as her grandmother combed through her hair, whispering old stories—stories about strength, about choosing your own path.

"Live, Leah."

Her grandmother's fingers brushed over the back of Leah's hand—just briefly.

"That is my only wish."

The air felt too thick, too heavy.

Leah's jaw tightened, her hands curling around the case.

"I don't know how." Her voice was rough, raw, uneven.

Her grandmother gave a small, tired smile.

"Then you learn."

Leah's throat locked, her grip on the case tightening.

"I don't want to leave you."

The words came before she could stop them, quieter than she meant.

But Grandma Mei just shook her head slowly, knowingly.

"You are not leaving me, Leah."

Her eyes burned with something fierce.

"You are moving forward."

A pause.

Then, her gaze softened, something gentle and unshakable settling in her expression.

"And I will always be proud of you."

Leah's breath hitched.

Her chest ached, her throat tight and unforgiving.

"Grandma—"

But the old woman just gave her hand a final, light squeeze.

Then—

She exhaled slowly, sinking further into the pillows.

Her voice dipped, soft as a whisper:

"It is time to say goodbye, my girl."

The air stilled.

Leah felt it, deep in her ribs—

Something breaking.

Something final.

She shook her head, fingers clenching. "Not yet—"

Her grandmother's smile was small, knowing.

"Yes, Leah. Now."

A pause.

Then—

"Go."

Leah's chest burned, something sharp pressing behind her ribs.

But she didn't move.

Couldn't.

Not until—

Grandma Mei's voice came one last time—soft, firm, and full of something deeper than goodbye.

"Live."

And Leah—

With everything in her breaking—

Got up.

And left.