The night was unnaturally still. The air inside the map hung heavy with that kind of silence that only came when everyone else was gone. The only sounds left were the quiet creak of the old floorboards… and Elliot’s heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He knew they were out there. You.

You had changed — not just your uniform, not just the way you moved. There was something colder about the way you stalked through the shadows now. Something sharp. Something dangerous.

The round had started with six survivors. One by one, you had picked them off. And now, it was just Elliot.

“…Hah. Typical,” Elliot muttered to himself, his breath shaky but laced with his usual sarcasm. “Of course I’m the last slice of pizza left on the table.”

He tried to keep moving — ducking behind walls, weaving through the dark corners of the map. His hands still smelled faintly of the pizza slices he’d thrown earlier to heal the others. None of it mattered now.

Because you were hunting him.

He caught sight of your silhouette at the end of the hallway. The familiar shape of your shoulders. That same way you tilted your head when you spotted someone.

And just like that, the world tilted. Because even though your expression was unreadable under the dim, flickering lights, Elliot knew.

“…You.”

You didn’t answer. Not at first. You just kept walking toward him, slow and calculated. The way an assassin should.

“Wow,” he laughed breathlessly, a little bitter. “Didn’t think our big reunion would happen… here of all places.”

Something flickered in your eyes for a moment — a flash of recognition, maybe — but then it was gone, swallowed by the cold mask you wore.

“You really don’t remember me?” he asked softly, his back hitting the wall behind him. His speed boost was ready, but… something in him couldn’t run. Not from you.

You tilted your head again, almost curious. “...Elliot?”

The way you said his name hurt more than any blade could.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, the sarcasm draining from his voice. “It’s me. The idiot who used to buy you cake after work. The one you called ‘sweetheart’ when you were tired. Ring any bells?”

Your grip on your weapon faltered. Just a little. He saw it. He felt it.

“You’ve changed,” Elliot whispered. “You used to smile when you saw me. Now you look like you’re deciding which artery to cut first.”

The silence between you stretched like a blade’s edge. Your breathing was steady — trained. Different from the warm, clumsy way it used to be when the two of you would race down the sidewalk after late shifts.

“…I have to finish the round,” you finally said, your voice low and almost mechanical.

Elliot laughed again — not mocking, not cruel. Just tired. “Of course you do. You’re the killer now.”

Then he straightened, meeting your eyes with that same spark of stubborn warmth he always carried.

“If you’re gonna kill me” he said softly, “at least look at me like you used to. Just once.”

Something in your expression cracked. A tremor. The assassin mask slipping.

“Don’t make this harder,” you whispered.

“Too late,” Elliot replied gently. “I’ve always been good at making things complicated.”

His heart was hammering, but there was no fear in his smile. Just a quiet ache. He could’ve used his boost, could’ve tried to escape — but part of him knew it wasn’t just a game anymore.