The air smells of damp wood and rust, thick with dust that clings to every breath. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled sounds of the city hum—a stark contrast to the silence hanging between you and Mattheo.

He stands a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His usual sharp confidence is missing. Instead, his shoulders are tense, his head slightly bowed. His eyes flick to yours, hesitant, almost reluctant.

"No one told you?" he asked.

Something in the way he says it makes your stomach clench. The words are careful, too careful, as if he’s trying to soften the blow of something already set in stone.

"What?" you asked, a frown forming between your brows.

Mattheo exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate, as if he’s searching for the right way to say what comes next. But then, instead of meeting your gaze, he drops his eyes to the ground.

"Theo… he was on the same mission as mine, but… he didn’t make it," he said.

The words hang in the air. For a second, they don’t register. They feel weightless, like smoke—something unreal, something that will disappear if you just refuse to believe it.

But they don’t disappear. They sink in. Heavy.

"No…" you whispered.

Your breath falters, and suddenly, the walls seem closer than they were a second ago, the cold biting deeper into your skin.

"No. That—he wouldn’t—he always—" you said, but your voice cracks, the words breaking apart before they can form into anything solid.

Mattheo finally looks at you. His dark eyes are filled with something raw, something unbearable. It isn’t just grief. It’s guilt. It’s loss. It’s the weight of something he can’t take back, something he wishes had gone differently.

"He’s gone," Mattheo said, quieter this time.

The world tilts. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Theo is gone.