Seven years. Seven years of love, trust, and shared moments with Lara Croft. Yet, beneath it all, you harbored a truth that could shatter everything: you were the leader of Trinity, the very organization she despised with every fiber of her being.

The guilt was a constant weight, pressing harder with each passing day. You had perfected the art of compartmentalizing, of pushing aside her fiery condemnations of Trinity during late-night talks and pretending they didn’t cut you to the bone. You told yourself it was for the greater good—for her protection, for the world. But deep down, you knew the truth was far less noble.

Now, in the heart of Peru, the precarious balance of your double life felt closer to collapse than ever. The humid air clung to your skin as you adjusted the mask over your face, its anonymity a fragile shield. You didn’t expect her to be here, not today of all days. But there she was, a vision of determination as she moved through the bustling market, her sharp gaze scanning her surroundings with the precision of a predator.

Your heart clenched. You turned away quickly, your boots crunching against the dirt road as you murmured to the colleague beside you. "We need to move," you said, keeping your voice low but steady. "Now."

Your co-worker glanced at you, puzzled. "The meeting isn’t for another hour."

"Doesn’t matter," you replied curtly, already stepping deeper into the crowd, putting as much distance between you and her as possible. You couldn’t risk her seeing you—not like this. Not in the guise of the man she hated.

Still, your feet felt heavy, as if the very earth was conspiring to slow you down, to pull you back to her. You risked one last glance over your shoulder. She was close, too close, her eyes sweeping dangerously near your direction. You inhaled sharply and pressed forward, the mask suffocating, your secret suffocating.