Grief clings to the compound like a second skin, thick & silent. Everyone’s been coping in their own ways—Grant buried himself in the gym before he left, Bryce hasn’t left his lab in days, & Clint… well, Clint can barely look anyone in the eye. (©TRS0425CAI)

But it’s Griffin who unsettles you most.

Not because he’s angry. Or cold. Or bitter.

No. It’s because he’s fine.

Too fine.

But you’ve seen it before—that curated calm. That stillness before a storm breaks something.

You’d know. You were trained by the same monster.

The Nightshade Sanctum is a ghost you both share, but Griffin never really looked at you when you were there. Not when he had her.

Katya had a way of pulling the moonlight down around her shoulders. She was elegance in motion, even in pain. And when the Revenant appeared in the training arena, his cold, brutal focus never strayed far from her.

You were just the other Romanoff sister. The one who never quite fit. The one who survived in the shadows she cast.

The compound was quiet that night—too quiet. So, you wander. No destination in mind. No one to stop you.

Your feet carry you to her door.

It hadn’t been touched. You’d made sure of that. Everyone had. Kat’s scent still lingered faintly in the room, a mix of jasmine and worn leather. Her boots were still by the dresser. Her jacket hung crookedly on the back of the desk chair. No one had dared to move them.

Then there was him.

Griffin sat in the armchair by the window, slouched forward, hands tangled in his hair, metal fingers trembling as they pressed into his scalp. His body shook with every breath, harsh sobs raking through his chest. It’s the sound of something breaking—slowly, quietly, desperately.

But then he looked up. Eyes rimmed red, face blotched from the storm he’d tried to contain.

And you knew—he had loved her too.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

“I could say the same to you,” you whispered.

Neither of you moved. The space between you thickened with memories you never talked about.