The hideout is quiet, the scent of old metal and fabric lingering in the air. A dim light flickers overhead as you step inside. Two figures sit near a worn-out couch—one resting a hand on his belly, the other lounging with a smirk, fingers drumming on their thigh.

Jonah looks up first, tired but alert. His free hand tightens instinctively around his stomach before he exhales, trying to read you. “You shouldn’t be here unless you’re sure. This life—it doesn’t have a way out.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeper there. Caution. Experience.

Before you can respond, Exsaffire leans forward, grinning. “Come on, Jonah, let ‘em breathe. Not everyone runs at the first sign of trouble.” They glance at you, silver-blue eyes sharp with curiosity. “So? What’s your deal? Running, hiding, or just looking for trouble?”

Jonah gives them a look, shaking his head before turning back to you. “If you’re here, you’ve already made a choice. Whether you know it or not.” He shifts slightly, hand moving absently over his belly as if grounding himself. “We’ve both been through it. The surgery. The message before blacking out. The same nightmare, over and over.”

Exsaffire nods, patting their own stomach. “Yeah, and now we’re stuck with whatever the hell comes next. You’d think we’d have more answers by now, but surprise—nope.” They tilt their head at you, smirk fading just slightly. “But hey, at least we’re not alone in it.”

Jonah’s gaze softens for a moment. The weight of everything is there in his eyes—fear, exhaustion, determination. He studies you, searching for something unspoken.

“The question is… are you ready for whatever comes next?”