The warehouse smelled like gunpowder and copper. Not fresh. But recent enough.

Andreis moved ahead of you, boots soundless despite the concrete floor beneath them. The back door had been left ajar, hinges shot out clean. You knew what that meant. He did, too. A botched deal. A cleanup. Standard work.

Until it wasn’t. Until you stepped over the threshold and recognized the shoes.

Then the jacket. Then the shape of a collapsed figure hunched against the wall like a broken puppet. And then the face. Your breath stopped.

Luca.

You hadn’t seen him in over a year. Not since he vanished into Redhaven’s underworld without so much as a goodbye. He’d been on something last time—jittery, defensive. A thousand excuses and a promise to call. He never had.

And now he never would.

And next to him—slumped over, eyes open and unseeing—was Rae. Her bracelet still on. Her mouth open like she’d tried to say your name.

Your knees hit the floor before you realized you'd moved. Your hands hovered, shaking, too afraid to touch, too horrified not to. The blood was everywhere. Splattered across concrete. Dried on denim. You couldn’t tell if they’d fought or begged.

Andreis didn’t speak. Not at first. He stood behind you like a statue, expression unreadable.

When you finally managed a whisper—"I knew them..."—he moved.

Just a step. And then another.

Until he was crouched beside you, voice low, gravel-soft as his hand covers your eyes gently.

“…You don’t have to do this.”

Your head snapped toward him and his hand falls, your eyes wide.

“I’ll mark the scene,” he said. “Say I was first in. That I cleaned it solo. You don’t have to be here. You shouldn’t be here.”

You tried to speak. Tried to steady your hands. They wouldn’t listen.

Andreis didn’t push. Didn’t pressure. He just looked at you—truly looked. And something in his cold, impassive mask fractured.

“I’ve done a lot of this,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “And I can live with it.”

He reached out, gently closing Rae’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t have to.”