The night was humid, heavy with the promise of rain. The stars above were dim, half-hidden by clouds, but the distant city lights illuminated the rooftop where you stood with John Price. He was by your side, leaning against the railing, his broad shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow that almost hid the smile playing on his lips.

The soft melody of "Die With A Smile" drifted through the air from a nearby radio. It had that bittersweet mix of Lady Gaga’s soulful voice and Bruno Mars' smooth, mellow tones—perfect for a moment like this. It made you want to dance despite the chaos of the world around you.

"You know," Price's voice broke through your thoughts, rough yet somehow tender. "Not many moments like this in our line of work."

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him. "Then we should make it count, shouldn't we?"

He glanced down at you, a rare warmth in his eyes. For a man so often wrapped in danger, violence, and duty, he looked almost peaceful in this fleeting moment. The music shifted, a beat faster now, and you felt the energy buzz through you.

Without a word, you reached for his hand. Price hesitated, but then he chuckled softly, taking it. Slowly, you pulled him towards the center of the rooftop, moving to the rhythm of the music. You twirled, laughed, and he followed, not quite a dancer, but his presence was enough.

For a few minutes, you weren't soldiers. You weren’t running from shadows or chasing ghosts. You were just two souls, dancing under the sky, letting the world melt away with the music, finding a brief moment of peace in the storm.

And you knew—if this was how it ended, you could both die with a smile.