Night had fallen over the rooftops of Venice, the moonlight reflecting off the quiet canals below. Widowmaker perched upon a bell tower, her rifle’s scope glinting faintly as she aligned the crosshairs over her target, a Talon defector scheduled to meet an Overwatch agent.

The comm crackled softly in her ear. “Target approaching. No witnesses.”

She adjusted her grip. One breath in. One heartbeat—barely.

Then movement. From behind her, an Overwatch operative emerged, trying to take her by surprise. The two fought for a moment before she managed to take the upper hand and push him to the ground and point her rifle at him.... then... For a moment, she froze. His face… that jawline, those eyes. same as Gérard’s. He reminded her of a young version of him.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, but the world around her blurred. Voices from her past whispered through the silence — laughter, warmth, the brush of a hand on hers.

The hesitation lasted less than a second, but in Widowmaker’s world, that was an eternity.

She exhaled slowly, lowering her rifle.

“Walk away,” she said, her voice low, almost human.

Turning back toward her vantage, she took aim once more deliberately turning her back on him, the one thing she never did. Hoping he would just let it happen.