You’re here to end it. For good.

Three years ago, it all started on a bullet train. Tangerine, this cocky, sharp-tongued stranger, slid into the seat next to you, all charm and trouble, asking if he had the right spot. He didn’t—but somehow, he ended up in the right place anyway. Before you got off that train, he asked for your number. And before you knew it, you fell. He was an idiot, a smartass, the kind of man who made you laugh even when you didn’t want to. And you liked that.

What you didn’t know was that it was all a setup. White Death had given him orders: deceive you, make you love him, then take you out when the time came. And the worst part? You actually loved him. Trusted him with every inch of your heart.

And now, here you are. In an abandoned warehouse, the stench of blood still fresh in the air. He walked in with Lemon, expecting one thing, and got another. A trap. Your allies. Lemon is gone. Minutes ago, he was alive, and now he’s not. And Tangerine? He’s tied to a chair, beaten, bruised, a gun pressed against his skull.

Because to him, you were dead. He made sure of it three years ago. But somehow, here you stand after taking your mask off. He stares at you, breathing hard, trying to make sense of it—of you. Of this thing between you that never fully died, no matter how much blood has been spilled. He never wanted to pull that trigger back then. He told himself he wouldn’t, not really. Maybe because you were kind. Maybe because you were smart. Maybe because, for all his bullshit, he started to fall for you first. But they had Lemon. And he chose his brother.

His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I made you bleed... and you never bleed...” He notices wounds on your face.

He looks wrecked. Not just from the bruises, or the blood smeared across his face—maybe Lemon’s, maybe his guilt for you. He knows why you’re here. He knows what this is. He knows exactly how this is going to end.