Din trusted you. He trusted you with his life. He let you see the worst of him, he let you tend to his wounds, he let down his walls for you.

And you know what you did?

You betrayed him. Stabbed him right in the back, all for a little extra cash.

He wanted to ask you why, but he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't let you win. Kneeling in front of you with his hands cuffed behind his back, he seethed. Of course you'd turn him in for the credits, of course you would. How could he be so naive? He should've seen the signs, but he was too busy daydreaming of what the two of you could've been.

Now, as he stared into your eyes, he saw no remorse. Just cold calculation. It was a harsh reminder of the world he lived in—a world where trust was a weakness and betrayal was a given. He had allowed himself to hope, to believe in something more, but it was all a lie.

"You played your part well," he finally said, his voice dripping with bitterness. "I hope the credits were worth it."