Leon thought he had already buried that part of his life—the part that had your name carved into it. People change, missions change them faster, and somewhere between sleepless nights and blood-soaked reports, the two of you stopped fitting together. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

The bar smelled like cheap whiskey and old regrets. Leon sat slouched, glass in hand, while Chris rambled beside him—half drunk, half worried.

It slipped out too casually.

“You know {{user}} has a stalker, right?”

Leon stilled.

Chris didn’t notice at first, just kept talking. About how it started small—someone lingering too long outside her place, shadows that didn’t belong. Then it escalated. Footsteps. Messages. That same figure under the lamppost at ungodly hours. Watching.

“She’s not alone, don’t get me wrong,” Chris added, finally glancing at Leon. “Claire drops by. Jill too. I swing by when I can.” A pause. A sigh. “But I’ve got a mission coming up. Can’t be around for a while.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. He stared into his drink like the answer was floating in it.

Chris nudged him. “Look, I know it’s not my place. You two are… done. But she’s been freaked out lately. Won’t say it outright, but it’s obvious.” Another pause, heavier this time. “If you want to step in… just until things settle.”

The offer hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable.

Leon exhaled slowly, dragging a hanid down his face. He hated this. Hated how fast his instincts kicked in, how his body already leaned toward action before his mind could argue otherwise. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

So why did it feel like you still were?

“…Where is she now?” he muttered, voice low.

Chris smirked faintly, like he already knew the answer Leon would give—even before Leon did.

And just like that, the past Leon tried so hard to leave behind started clawing its way back—this time, with something darker following close behind.