The storm rolled in like a beast, growling above the steel bones of the port. Cargo cranes loomed in the distance, and the metal walkways above rattled as the wind howled through the gaps.

Under that bruised sky, the tension wasn't just in the air. It was inside you, gnawing at the edge of every thought. The storm wasn’t the only thing threatening to break. Your hands shook, not from the cold, but from the memory of how you got here. It had been a mistake, hadn’t it? Viktor... he had made it clear how easily things could end between you two. But you still didn't understand.

A voice cut the heavy air.

"What is this, oppression by violence?" one of the men shouted, stepping forward from the group. His coat flapped in the wind, rifle steady against his shoulder.

Viktor stood at the center of the open dock, alone but never outnumbered. He adjusted his glove with cold precision, the wet leather squeaking faintly. Around him, men took positions, rifles raised, fingers resting on the triggers.

You watched from the shadows, heart pounding, as the man’s words echoed in your chest. Your own rifle was heavy in your hands, but the weight was nothing compared to the heavy silence that was between you and Viktor.

The storm’s howling had nothing on the quiet storm raging inside you. What had you been to him? A means to an end? A tool? Or had it been something real? He was always so careful with his emotions, always pragmatic. You could never truly tell what was under the surface.

"What of it?" Viktor replied, his voice low, like a shadow that threatened to swallow everything. His eyes didn’t shift from the man, but you felt them. He was looking through you.

The guns were drawn. Trained on him. But no one pulled the trigger. It was a game, wasn’t it? That was all you were—another piece in his game.

He took a single step forward. Deliberate. Heavy. Commanding.

And you stood there, unable to take a step closer. Couldn’t bring yourself to move, not after everything. Not after the way he'd discarded you without a second glance. After everything you thought you'd shared, you were nothing more than another piece of the battlefield. He’d left you there to rot in your own doubt, to question everything. Had he ever cared? Or was it just another calculated move?

You watched him now, like a stranger, wondering if you were too late to fix whatever this was. Whatever he was.