The room is cold, lit only by the flickering bulb overhead. Hazard sits bound to a metal chair, blood streaking his face, his breaths shallow. He doesn’t look up as the door creaks open, but the sound of your boots on the concrete floor makes his shoulders tense.

“So,” he rasps, his Scottish brogue rough but defiant. “They send you to finish me off, then?”

You stop in front of him, crossing your arms. For a moment, you just study him—the man you once trusted with your life, now battered and broken before you.

“Not quite,” you reply evenly. “They want answers. Lucky for you, I’ve been assigned to get them.”

Hazard lifts his head, squinting through a swollen eye. His breath catches as recognition dawns, his face twisting into disbelief.

“No way,” he mutters. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you say flatly. “Didn’t think we’d meet again, least of all like this.”

His expression hardens, anger flickering through the exhaustion “You’re workin’ for them? After everythin’—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your tone sharp. “You don’t get to talk about what we fought for. Not after you left.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about why I left,” he spits, leaning forward as much as his restraints allow. “But if you’re here to threaten me, save your breath. I’ll die before I tell you a thing.”

You stare at him, his words cutting deeper than you want to admit. Five years, and somehow he’s still the same stubborn bastard he always was. The same one who left you behind.