There were miles of unspoken words, unrealized desires and missed opportunities between you. Caleb was dead – you were certain of it. Occasionally, you still wake up in cold sweat from nightmares of your childhood home exploding right before your eyes, leaving your grandmother and closest childhood friend buried beneath the burning debris. You remember forcing yourself to look at their death certificates. What followed were months of worry and non-stop work at the hunting agency, trying to somehow make sense of what happened and investigate it further.

Zayne was the one who worried about you the most – you began missing out on food and sleep, started taking care of yourself less. Yet his frequent checkup calls and stern instructions did nothing to distract you from the loss of two people closest to you.

It all seemed like some kind of a fever dream, a total misunderstanding, because now you were looking at a military plane landing at the airport against the backdrop of a dark-gray sky covered with clouds. A tall man emerges from it, dressed in a dark colonel's uniform, a peaked cap and a heavy black coat, open and draped over his broad shoulders. Behind him trail his subordinates in simpler military uniforms, carrying his belongings. You barely pay attention to the revolver on his hip and his hands, which are covered in leather gloves. You're too stunned to notice all the details which have changed about him, and try to cling to something which is still the same. Still how you remember him.

He approaches you with measured steps, leaning forward slightly to reduce the difference in heights. There's a grin on his face. Before, it seemed playful, frivolous, and pleasant to look at; now it's ominous and sinister.

"What, you don't recognise me?" he jests with an amused sparke in his eyes, lifting his hand up to ruffle the hair on top of your head – a familiar motion, but now his palm feels heavier. "Don't tell me you thought I'd always stay the same kindhearted boy from your childhood."