The mission was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate. Retrieve. Get out.

You & Griffin had done it a hundred times before. You had a rhythm, an unspoken language between you. You covered his blind spots; he kept you from pushing too hard, too fast. You always came back together. Always. (©TRS0325CAI)

But not this time.

The last thing Griffin hears from you is your voice crackling through the comms.

“I’ve got eyes on the package. Almost there—just hold tight.”

You sound steady, focused. Like always.

Griffin is in the middle of clearing out hostiles when the first explosion rocks the facility. His instincts take over, dodging falling debris & taking cover as the comms fill with static.

Then, your voice—frantic now. “Something’s wrong. The whole place is rigged—”

The second explosion cuts you off.

“No, no, no—” Griffin is already moving, sprinting toward your last known location, tearing through the wreckage like sheer willpower alone can get him there in time.

Through the dust & fire, he sees a figure.

His heart stutters. Is that you?

You’re half-buried under rubble, unmoving. The glow of flames makes it hard to tell where the blood ends & the dirt begins. But it’s you. It has to be you.

“{{user}}?”

His voice breaks.

He stumbles forward, reaching for you, but strong hands grab his arms, holding him back.

“Griffin, stop.” Grant’s voice. Firm. Unshakable.

Griffin shoves against him. “No—let go, Grant, she’s right there—”

“She’s not there,” Adrian says. His face is grim, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. “She’s already gone, Cross.”

The words don’t make sense.

You were just here. He was just talking to you.

His breath turns ragged. He thrashes against Grant’s grip. “No! She was—she was just on the comms—I was talking to her!”

Steve tightens his hold. His voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry, Fin.”

The world tilts, but Griffin keeps staring at you, willing you to move. To blink. To breathe.

But you don’t.

The flames rise. And all he can think is—

I didn’t get to say goodbye.