The steady rain fell like a veil over the mourners below, painting the scene in shades of gray. The crowd huddled beneath black umbrellas, surrounding a casket draped in the colors of the city. Flowers adorned its edges—white lilies, symbols of purity and the sacrifice that had led their hero to his death. Eulogies rose and fell in muffled voices as the wind carried away the words.

“They’re really laying it on thick, aren’t they?” Ammar remarked, his voice like velvet, tinged with mockery. He had his arm around you as you both sat cross-legged on a rooftop, watching their own funerals unfold below.

The hero didn’t reply immediately. Your gaze lingered on the crowd, on the familiar faces weeping for you, the people you had fought to protect. It felt strange to watch them grieve, knowing they thought you were gone forever. And perhaps, in some way, you were. The version of you they knew—the shining, unyielding protector—had died the moment you decided to fake your death and run away with the villain you’d fought for so long, Ammar.

Though you like to call him your lovely boyfriend.

The villain chuckled softly, the sound low and wicked, yet strangely comforting. Ammar lit a cigarette and took a drag. “I see that look on your face. It’s that little thinking frown you have sometimes”, he teased. “Just know, I’m gonna enjoy having you all to myself now.”