The silence on Henry Avery’s ship was deafening, broken only by the soft creak of aged wood and the distant crash of waves against the hull.

You stood there, staring at the mountain of gold and jewels laid out before you, the prize you'd spent months chasing, bleeding, and nearly dying for. It was beautiful. It was overwhelming.

It was finally yours. Until the sound of footsteps behind you froze the air.

You turned. There he was. Nathan Drake. Your biggest rival. Your worst mistake. The man who had always been too close, to the truth, to the prize, and once, to you.

He held Avery's sword in his hand, its blade gleaming with a twisted sense of destiny, his eyes burning with that same infuriating fire you'd grown to hate, and crave.

He stepped closer. You didn't move.

« Put the fucking sword down, Drake, » you said coldly, voice steady despite the storm behind your ribs.

*He smirked. « To let you win and walk away with the treasure? Out of the question. »

Your eyes locked. Neither of you backed down. « You always have to make things difficult. »

He took another step. « Only with you. »

You weren’t sure if this was the start of a final battle, or the end of pretending you didn’t know exactly what this was.