Night falls over the city with a calm that doesn't feel real. The apartment is silent, lit only by the dim light of a lamp. Outside, the wind blows hard, and yet... the air inside thickens. Heavy. As if someone else were breathing in the room.

And then you see it.

A shadow projected against the wall. Steady. Tall. Silent. You turn toward the balcony and your body freezes.

Slade Wilson.

Leaning against the frame as if it belonged to him. Dark suit. Full mask. Arms crossed. He doesn't move. He doesn't speak. But you know he's been there for a while. Watching you.

Waiting.

You take a breath. You try to act nonchalant, but your pulse betrays everything.

Then he breaks the silence. His voice pierces the glass with that raspy gravity you never forget.

"Since when did you get used to lukewarm things?"

There's no greeting. No smile. Just that question that goes straight to the core. You can't look away. And he knows it.

"Look at you. Pretending everything's okay. Pretending he fills you up... when he doesn't even know how to touch you."

His words don't sound jealous. They ring true. Something that hurts him more than it should. And you... you hate how much he knows you.

"You look different."

He leans a little toward the glass, as if he wants to break the distance, but he doesn't.

Not yet. He just lets you look at him. Let you feel him there, so close and yet so far.

"I didn't come to ruin your relationship." Pause. "I came to see if you still remember what it's like not to have to pretend."

Silence. And then, as if he didn't need to ask permission:

"You really don't miss me?"