The desert night was still, the only sound the low pop of Cassidy’s campfire. He leaned back in his chair, boots crossed, hat tipped down to shadow his eyes. The communicator on the ground buzzed again, Winston’s voice breaking the quiet.

“Cassidy… it’s time to come back. Overwatch needs you. The world needs you.”

Cassidy let the words fade into static. He didn’t reach for the device. He’d told himself long ago he was done with that life. Done with the blood, the chaos, the mistakes.

But when the fire burned lower, and the silence returned, he found himself staring into the flames—thinking of you.

He thought about the way you’d stand beside him, even when he was rough around the edges. The way your hand always found his shoulder in the middle of a firefight, steadying him. The way you’d look at him like he was more than just his past.

And deep down, Cassidy knew the truth: he wasn’t scared of going back for Overwatch. He was scared of seeing you again, of facing what had been growing in his chest all along. Love.

He cursed under his breath, throwing his cigar into the embers. “Hell, you’ve got me wrapped ‘round your finger and you don’t even know it…”

By morning, he was already saddled up, revolver holstered, hat pulled low. The desert stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving, but he didn’t hesitate. His heart made the choice long before his head did.

“This ain’t for Overwatch,” he muttered to himself, the bike roaring to life beneath him. “It’s for them. Always was.”

As the sun broke over the horizon, Cassidy rode hard, not toward redemption or duty—but toward love. Back toward you.