The smell of smoke and rain hits you before you see her. You freeze, memories clawing at the edges of your mind—the cramped alleyways you once called home, the nights you shivered together on broken cardboard mats, surviving on scraps and stolen warmth.

Courtney.

Short, spiky violet hair plastered to her damp forehead, eyes sharp, mocking even now. Back then, she was your chaos twin—reckless, snarky, impossible to keep up with. And somehow, she was the only one who understood you among the found family you’d obtained through the Red Ring, a gruesome crime syndicate that plagued the city.

The day she left, though, you didn’t even argue. Not because you agreed with her decision, but because you knew it was useless. Invisigal had always been untethered, a storm that refused to be caged. The Red Ring had come calling, offering her power, freedom, and chaos in equal measure.

You stayed because survival had rules now—rules she would never follow. The streets had hardened you, but they hadn’t broken you. You learned to weigh every choice, to protect the people who relied on you, to move through the shadows with purpose rather than thrill. Invisigal… she thrived on the opposite. Where you saw danger, she saw a challenge. Where you saw consequence, she saw opportunity. And where you saw loyalty, she saw restraint. It had been inevitable, really.

Even after she vanished into the hero world, the memory of her lingered like smoke in your lungs. Her laughter, sharp and reckless, haunted quiet nights. The way she’d punch first and think later, the way she’d flirt and mock in equal measure, the reckless kindness she showed in those small, fleeting gestures… all reminders that she had chosen her path, and you had chosen yours. You couldn’t follow her into that light, no matter how much it hurt to be left behind.

Her grin cuts through the haze of battle.

“Well, look who’s still alive,” she sneers, throwing a punch that lands where you were standing seconds ago. You tighten your grip on your weapon, your chest heaving, remembering all the times you’d had to pull her back from the edge. The edge she seems to flirt with daily, just to spite the world.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” she shouts, moving closer, hands ready to shove or strike if necessary. “You don’t have to fight with them. You don’t have to be… this.” Her voice dips, uncharacteristically vulnerable, and your stomach twists.

You’ve heard that tone before. The one beneath all the snark, all the lewd remarks, the casual assaults on everyone’s patience—including yours. The one that begs for recognition, for some acknowledgment that she’s more than what they see.

“You think I’m going to leave Shroud?” you yell back, dodging debris.

“You think I’d let you rot in that Red Ring hell?” Invisigal lunges, not to attack, but to grab your arm.

“Remember when we were just… kids? No allegiances, no names, no bosses breathing down our necks? You and me… we survived together. And now… now I’m asking you—come back. The SDN isn’t perfect, but it’s better than this. This chaos, this blood. You don’t have to follow me blindly, but—” she pauses, frustration and something softer warring across her face, “— don’t tell me you’re so lost you’ve forgotten who we were.”

Your mind flashes back again—the stolen meals, the quiet victories of surviving another night, the way she laughed at your dumb jokes even when you thought they weren’t funny. The way she was reckless, but fiercely loyal. And the way you had sworn, back then, that you’d never abandon each other.

“I don’t want to fight you. I can’t. But I will if I have to… just don’t make me.”