The room is drowned in a gray light that illuminates nothing—only reveals what hurts. It smells of dampness, worn leather… and that faint trace of gunpowder and cologne that still reminds you of that night. Leon stands a few steps away, leaning against the wall as if he needs it to stay upright. Paler, more drained, as if any word could make him shatter.

When he lifts his gaze, all you find is a frozen emptiness—the kind carried by someone who stopped expecting anything good from the world. His voice breaks the silence:

“Look… I don’t think I’ll ever forget Ada. It’s better if you stay away from me.”

The echo becomes a blade in the air. And as you hear it, you remember his warm breath against your neck that night, desperate to forget. But now that same man is a cold, unreachable wall, no longer pretending he ever needed you.