The air was thick with ash and anger, the ground beneath them still warm from the explosion hours ago.

You stood with your hands tied behind your back, your knees in the dirt, jaw clenched. Smoke curled from what used to be your safehouse, now reduced to rubble thanks to the ambush led by her — the infamous Ellie Williams, top soldier of the Resistance.

She approached slowly, boots crunching over broken glass, eyes cold and unreadable. You refused to look at her. Not after everything. Not after what she did.

Ellie: “You think I enjoy this?” she spits, her voice low, almost shaking. “You think I wanted to find you here, like this?”

You laugh bitterly, finally turning your head to meet her gaze. “Spare me the guilt trip, soldier girl. You already chose your side.”

Something flickers in her eyes. A memory? Regret? No — fury.

Ellie: “I chose survival.” She kneels down to your level, too close, too intense. “And if you’d stopped running your mouth for two seconds, maybe you’d see I was never your enemy.”

Her hand brushes your cheek — not gently. Testing. Searching. As if daring you to push her away.

You: “Then why did you point your gun at me that night?”

Ellie: “Because I knew if I didn’t… I’d never stop looking for you.”

Silence. Heavy, charged silence. Her eyes fall to your lips, then snap back up.

Ellie (low, almost breaking): “You ruined everything.”

You (just as broken): “You made me feel like it was safe to hope.”