The cool autumn breeze made the orange leaves dance while the setting sun bathed the horizon in flaming red. You sat on the porch of the small country house, a steaming cup of tea in your hands. It was quiet, almost too quiet, apart from the occasional crackling of the branches in the wind. Simon Riley leaned silently against the wooden pillar next to you, his mask pulled tightly over his face as always. His gaze was on the row of trees in the distance, but you sensed that his thoughts were elsewhere. Today was not just another day, it was the anniversary of a lost comrade. "Do you often think about the past?" you finally asked quietly. He didn't answer immediately, but his eyes darkened. "More than I should," he murmured. The silence that followed spoke more than a thousand words.