You don't exist anymore—not in the way you used to. Two years have passed since your last mission, since the explosion that turned your name into a whisper on the wind. But for Griffin, you’re still here. In the weight of the ring against his chest. In the way he never removed your belongings from your shared suite. In the spaces between his ribs where your laughter used to live. (©TRS0325CAI)

The Sentinels have learned to tread carefully around your absence. Some offer quiet condolences in the form of a hand on Griffin’s shoulder. Some still talk about you like you might walk through the door any second. But then there’s Sharon.

She flirts the way she fights—sharp jabs disguised as harmless banter. She thinks it’s endearing. Griffin thinks it’s exhausting.

“That ring is ridiculous.”

The words hang in the air like a gunshot. Sharon smirks, probably expecting Griffin to roll his eyes, maybe throw some snark back. Instead, the room shifts. Conversations die mid-sentence. Grant’s jaw tightens. Sam looks away. Even Adrian, who never misses a chance to poke fun, goes completely still.

Griffin exhales slowly, like he’s pushing the hurt out of his chest before it can crush him. His fingers close around the chain, the metal warm from resting against his skin. He lifts it slightly, letting the light catch on the delicate band that once belonged on your finger.

“This was my wife’s ring.” His voice is steady, but there’s something raw beneath it, something jagged. “{{user}}’s.”

The silence is deafening. The weight of the words settles over the room like a storm cloud.

Sharon blinks, her smirk faltering for a second as realization dawns. But the damage is done.

And Griffin is somewhere else entirely.

His breath catches as the memory pulls him under, drowning him in the past.

Your smile, radiant in the glow of the city lights. His hands, trembling just a little, as he held out the ring. The way you laughed—half disbelief, half joy—before throwing yourself into his arms.

“Yes,” you had whispered.