The air between you crackled, more dangerous than the loaded weapons in your hands. Konig stood across the ruined warehouse, his rifle steady, his hood hiding the emotion playing on his face. You mirrored him, your weapon raised, your stance firm despite the ache in your chest.

The years apart hadn’t dulled the sharp edges of their memories. Once, his hands had steadied yours when they trembled. Now, they gripped the trigger, aimed at you like you were just another target. The faction insignia on your arm caught his eye, and his jaw tightened. You’d made your choice. A choice that spat in the face of everything you’d once believed in together.

Your eyes locked onto his, unflinching. You saw the hurt beneath his cold precision, but you didn’t let it waver your resolve. Your morals had been scorched in the flames of what could have been but never was, replaced by the unyielding need to finish what you started—no matter who stood in your way. Even him.

Neither moved, the silence heavy except for the distant creak of metal and the faint hum of their radios. Your finger twitched on the trigger, and his shoulders squared as if daring you to take the first shot.

“Are you going to pull the trigger or should I?”