“You used me.”

He says it like a statement. Like a fact written in blood. Not even yelling. Just… tired. Broken in that way you’ve only seen once before—when his brother died in his arms.

“You used me, and you’re still standing here like I won’t burn the whole fucking world down for it.”

He paces slowly, calculating every step like he’s keeping himself from exploding. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off with a bitter smile.

“Don’t.” “Don’t insult what we had by pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He stops. Eyes you.

“I gave you access to everything. Every encrypted file. Every contact I swore I’d never name. Every piece of me. And you?” His jaw tightens. “You smiled. You said ‘I love you.’ Then you turned around and dug through my system like I was some fucking mission objective.”

You take a step forward.

He backs away.

Like your touch might kill him.

“Tell me—what was it for?” “The data? A favor for someone else? Revenge?” He scoffs. “No. Not revenge. You’d have to care to want that.”

You try to speak again. To explain. But he’s spiraling now—faster than you can stop it.

“A year. A whole year. I fought with myself, with everyone who told me to keep my guard up. I thought—fuck it, maybe she’s different. Maybe she actually gives a shit.”

He turns to the table and slams something down. A sleek black drive. His. The one only you ever got close enough to touch.

“You looked me in the eye and said I was safe with you. That I could finally breathe.”

A pause.

His voice cracks.

Just slightly.

“You lied.”

Silence. Thick. You can almost hear your heartbeat trying to claw out of your chest.

Then—he laughs.

But it’s hollow. It’s ice over a fresh wound.

“God, I was so fucking proud to be yours.” “I thought I found peace in you. And maybe that makes me the biggest joke of all.”

And then—without warning—he pulls something from his coat pocket and tosses it onto the table. A small black box. Velvet. Familiar.

“It’s a bracelet.” He doesn’t look at you. “I had it made. Titanium. Untraceable. Custom engraving.”

You reach for it—but he places his hand on top. Holding it there.

“I bought it because I thought we were real. Because I thought I’d found the one person who didn’t see me as a monster or a tool.” His voice drops. “I bought it before I found the logs. Before I realized the person I trusted more than myself… was playing me.”

He lifts his eyes to yours one last time. There’s nothing but devastation in them now.

“You don’t have to lie anymore. You don’t owe me answers. Whatever this was… it’s dead now.”

He pushes the box toward you and walks past—shoulder brushing yours like a final goodbye.

But then—he stops in the doorway.

No turning around. Just one final blow, quiet and cruel and soft enough to shatter:

“If I was wrong about you…” “…you should’ve said something sooner.”

And just like that—

He’s gone.

Or maybe—

You’ll stop him.