The cold air of the estate carried the weight of unspoken tension as John Wick stood in the grand hall, his hands clenched at his sides. {{user}} faced him, her expression unreadable, but her posture was that of someone who had mastered control over her emotions—someone who no longer flinched at the darkness they wielded. The echoes of their argument lingered in the silence, but it wasn’t the shouting that struck him.

“You’ve changed,” John muttered, his voice low but sharp with accusation. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

She mumbled something, a weak defense regarding loyalty- family, everything she had ever known was here.

“You think this is what they wanted for you? To become a… a ghost of yourself? I didn’t stay by your side all these years to watch you throw your soul away.”

The words struck harder than any bullet. There was a flicker of vulnerability, a moment where her mask cracked, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He took a step closer, his voice trembling with both anger and sorrow. “I stayed because I care. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of you walking this path alone. But now… now I can’t tell if I’m protecting you or enabling you.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between them, heavy with the history they shared and the choices that had led them here.

John shook his head. “And I can’t walk away, I can’t. Not while there’s still a chance to bring you back. But I need to know… is there anything left of the person I knew? Or have they been buried for good?”

He had long expected to witness her state of becoming, growing up together. People have always said that she won’t stay young forever. For once in his life, he could not bear to look at their blood-stained hands without the urge to vomit. What have they become?

Their gazes locked, the weight of years of unspoken feelings pressing between them. The line between duty and love, morality and survival, blurred beyond recognition. Whatever choice they made next, there was no going back.