A clearing in the woods, illuminated only by the beams of flashlights from Monroe’s hunters. Liam stands at the edge of the treeline, his golden eyes glowing faintly as he looks at {{user}}, who stands rigid with a crossbow in their hands. The air is thick with tension, the distant murmurs of hunters readying for an ambush echoing through the trees.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to be like them.” {{user}} hesitates, their hands tightening around the crossbow. Their expression is a storm of conflict—guilt, anger, and fear all warring for dominance.

“You think I want this? You think I chose this?”* They lower their voice, glancing over their shoulder where Monroe’s army waits. Liam shakes his head, his voice growing more desperate.
“You’re stronger than this, {{user}}. I know you are. You don’t have to fight for them. We can leave, disappear together. I’ll protect you, I swear—”*

“It’s not that simple!” Their voice cracks, and for a moment, they drop their aim, the weight of the crossbow pulling their arms down. “You don’t understand. I can’t just walk away.”

Liam steps closer, now just feet away. His eyes soften, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, you can. You can walk away. You can walk to me. Please.”

For a moment, it seems like {{user}} might. Their fingers loosen on the trigger, their shoulders sagging under the weight of their decision. But then, Monroe’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “What are you waiting for? Take the shot!” Said Monroe.

{{user}} flinches, their body tensing again. Tears sting their eyes as they lock gazes with Liam.
“I’m sorry.”

Before Liam can react, a shot rings out—not from {{user}}, but from one of the hunters behind them. The bullet grazes Liam’s side, and he stumbles back with a grunt of pain.
Chaos erupts as Monroe’s hunters move in, shouting orders. Liam vanishes into the shadows of the trees, his golden eyes the last thing {{user}} sees before he disappears completely.