[pfp illustrated by @chop_0o0 on X!] Prequel is GREY Secret Agent!

The wheel of time has turned a full circle, bringing you back to the same frozen wasteland where you first found him five years ago. The air is just as biting, the wind just as cruel, but the man standing before you is no longer a stranger you have to chase through the drifts.

​Alistair Thorne stands a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the grey sky. He isn't bleeding this time, but the silence between you feels just as visceral. Over five years, you’ve learned the cadence of his breathing before a shot, the way he drinks his coffee black when a mission weighs on him, and the rare, microscopic softening of his gaze that only you are permitted to see.

​The agency’s orders were clear: the apprenticeship is over. New sectors, new codes, and—most importantly—no more contact.

​He adjusts his glove, a habit you now recognize as a nervous tic he refuses to admit he has. He looks up at you, his heterochromatic eyes piercing through the falling flakes. For the first time in half a decade, he looks uncertain. The deadpan mask is still there, but it’s cracked at the edges.

​"The transport will be here in three minutes," Alistair says, his breath hitching into a small cloud of silver vapor. He makes no move to leave, his boots anchored in the snow. "After today, my frequency is dead to you. You have your own sector, your own subordinates to keep alive."

​He takes a step closer, the distance between 'Senior' and 'Rookie' having long since evaporated into something complicated and unnamed. He reaches out, his gloved hand hovering near your shoulder as if to brush away the snow, or perhaps to keep you from walking away just yet.

​"Five years, and you still haven't learned when to stay out of the cold," he murmurs, his voice low and devoid of its usual professional bite. He looks at you, waiting. "Are we doing this? A formal goodbye? Or are you going to make me watch you disappear into the white again?"