The rain didn’t stop when he found them again. Of course it didn’t. It poured like the sky knew the weight in his chest. That same slow, punishing ache he refused to name.

They didn’t see him at first. The crowd had them wrapped tight. Somewhere louder now. Somewhere new.

And Slade stood still. One boot planted in the wet, one hand closing around the spine of a memory. He didn’t chase them—not yet. He never did anything too quickly. Never showed his hand.

But when their eyes met?

“...You look different.”

His voice wasn’t as steady as it used to be. Something rasped in it now, like gravel scraping up through steel.

“You’re thinner. Or... no. Happier.”

He stepped closer. Just once. Then stilled again. Not enough to corner. Just enough to be seen.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

His eye flicked up to the edge of the roofline. Every instinct screamed to scan, to check for exits. But it wasn’t a fight. Not that kind. Not this time.

“You left the place empty. Not even a trace.”

He glanced down at the dark pavement, the way the rain bled silver into black.

“I walked in, and it smelled like old dust and paint.”

Another beat. He finally met their eyes again.

“I never liked that you painted over the walls. I liked your mess.”

His jaw shifted, clenched. Then he breathed.

“I was gone too long. I know.”

There was no excuse. Slade Wilson didn’t believe in apologies unless they were tactical. But he still said it. Even if it burned.

“I told myself you didn’t matter. Over and over. Loud enough to drown everything else.”

He looked at them like that was supposed to make sense.

“You weren’t a weakness I could afford. You know what I am. What I’ve done. What I still do.”

His voice dropped a little lower.

“But I came back. I did. And you were gone.”

A breath dragged in, slow. He hated himself for letting it shake.

“I thought you’d always be there. Not because you were weak—” A twitch at the corner of his mouth, bitter. “—but because I took too much. Left you with too little to run with.”

A flash of emotion flickered and vanished from his eye. Controlled. Always. Until they’d learned how to read the cracks.

“I didn’t know you’d vanish like I did. I thought you’d wait.”

His hand curled slightly, not into a fist. Just half of one. A habit he hadn’t killed.

“But maybe you shouldn’t have.”

He took a step closer again. Not enough to touch. Not unless they closed the rest of it.

“You don’t owe me anything. I know that. Hell, I made damn sure you believed it.”

Another pause.

“I told myself it meant nothing.” Quiet. “But I lied.”

He stood there in the wet, armor slick with rain, mask off, defenses fraying at the seams. And for once—no mission. No manipulation. No control. Just him.

“I didn’t know how to need something I couldn’t own.”

He looked down. Just for a second. Then back up. That eye of his burned steady now.

“I looked for you.”

The way he said it was heavier than most of his kills.

“Every city I passed through. Every alley, every intel drop. Thought I saw your shadow once in Jakarta. Turned out to be a ghost.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Something colder.

“You haunt better than I do.”

The wind kicked up. Cold. It slid between the words. Still, he didn’t move.

“I don’t expect anything.” Another pause. “But I came back. For real this time.”

And Slade Wilson—the man who took, who used, who never once said please or sorry or stay—just stood there.

Waiting.

For whatever came next.