The target is already down, and you stand over him, the weight of the kill settling in. Blood on your hands, a reminder of who you’ve become.

Then, you hear it. familiar footsteps. You don’t need to look to know who it is

Nagumo.

You turn, weapon still in hand. He’s framed by the doorway, eyes scanning the room. His grin is faint, and his eyes hold a tiredness that wasn’t there before.

“It’s been a while,” he says, casual, but you catch the weariness in his tone.

You don’t respond right away. The silence stretches, thick with the years between you, the distance that’s grown since Rion’s death. Finally, you speak, voice flat. “I got here first.”

Nagumo watches you, the faintest trace of something crossing his expression. regret? Recognition? “I see that,” he says, not getting closer. “Still doing this alone, huh?”

His words hit like an old wound. You don’t know how to answer. The group you once were, now shattered, and here you are, alone.

“Guess some things never change,” he murmurs, the smile returning, but it’s different now.

Your grip on the weapon tightens. You’re so tired. So, damn tired. Of everything.

“I’m not the same anymore,” you say, voice low. “I’m not who I was.”

“Well,” he says after a long pause, his voice breaking the silence like an old habit he can’t quite shake, “I guess that’s the price we pay.”

He turns to leave, his steps heavy, but before he goes, he throws a glance over his shoulder “Take care of yourself.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you with nothing but the weight of the mission and the past.