The cabin groaned softly under its own weight, old wood settling with the sound of something that had long ago stopped resisting decay. The air inside was stale—metallic, damp—carrying traces of gunpowder and wet leaves dragged in on boots. Outside, crows cried into the fog, their calls cutting through the distant, broken echoes of Ganados moving somewhere deeper in the trees.

Inside, time didn’t stop. It slowed.

{{user}} stood near the table, one hand braced against its edge, eyes fixed on the maps scattered across its surface. The paper was brittle, corners curled and darkened with age. Routes circled and crossed out. Notes scribbled by hands long gone. Their pack dug into their shoulders, but they barely noticed. Fatigue wasn’t the problem.

Luis was.

He was only a few feet away, rifling through a half-collapsed shelf, and somehow managing to fill the small space just by being there. Too loud in presence, too warm for a place like this. Always had been.

The last memory of him came unbidden—red emergency lights flashing through sterile hallways, alarms screaming over each other, the sharp smell of chemicals and blood. A hand pushing them forward. A voice, urgent, almost calm.

Run.

Then the lab door had slammed shut, and Luis had disappeared with it.

Now he was here again. No lab coat. No badge. Just a worn leather jacket, scuffed boots, hair falling into his eyes like it had never learned discipline. The cigarette tucked behind his ear looked almost out of place—too casual for someone who had survived as long as he had.

He pulled a dented tin from the shelf, turned it over, then let it drop back with a dull clatter.

—“Fantastic.”— he muttered, accent curling around the word. —“If I wanted to die from food poisoning, this would do it.”—

He leaned back against the wall, brushing dust from his hands more out of habit than necessity. When he looked up, his gaze landed on {{user}} and stayed there.

—“So...”— he said lightly, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of a war zone. —“You gonna tell me where you vanished to?”—

The tone was easy. The question wasn’t.

{{user}} didn’t answer right away. Their attention stayed on the map, on a route that no longer mattered. Words felt heavier than they should’ve. Luis had always done that—made silence noticeable just by waiting through it.

He tilted his head when they didn’t respond, a familiar expression crossing his face. Not mocking. Observant.

—“Right.”— he said quietly. —“Still not much for talking.”—

There was something fond in it, restrained enough not to be obvious.

He pushed off the wall and took a step closer. Not crowding. Just closing the distance like it was natural. Like it had always been.

—“You never changed much.”— he continued. —“Always serious. Like you were measuring the room, weighing every outcome.”— A faint smile tugged at his mouth. —“Made me nervous, you know.”—

Another step. Close enough now for details to sharpen—the faint scar above his brow, the tiredness he tried to pass off as charm. His eyes had lost some of their shine. Gained something heavier in return.

—“I didn’t exactly settle down.”— he went on, shrugging. —“Kept moving. Thought it was safer that way.”—

Then, quieter—almost offhand, but not enough to hide it:

—“I figured you were dead.”—

The words landed and stayed.

Outside, something howled—too distant to be immediate, too close to be ignored. Inside, Luis didn’t look away. Didn’t joke. Didn’t fill the space.

After a moment, he exhaled and gave a short, crooked smile, rubbing at his temple.

—“Guess I’m bad at being wrong.”— he said. —“But I don’t mind this one.”—

He glanced at the maps, then back at {{user}}.

—“...Come on...”— he added. —“...If we’re gonna survive this mess, we might as well do it the way we used to.”—