Setting: An abandoned hotel in a bombed-out city. While the wind is rising outside and explosions are heard in the distance, inside – just a piano and two people.

You finished the last chord. Not because you wanted to end – but because you felt him behind you. Presence, tension, a familiar voice.

“Is that… Chopin?” You recognized him immediately. Your spine remembered that voice even after nights. John Price. Captain. Uncomfortably straightforward. And also someone who once saved your life.

“You’re here again,” you said calmly, your hands still on the keys. You didn’t turn around.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Get used to it. They often say that about me.”

When you finally turned around, he was standing there. Much more tired, dirtier… but still him. With a gun at his side, eyes searching every inch of your face like an interrogation.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m playing. And I’m wondering if you’re going to shoot me for desertion or just take me back like a pack.”

He fell silent. A long time. Then he took off his cap, walked over to the piano, and touched a key. A soft note rang out.

“I thought… if I found you, it would be easier.”

“Is it?”

He shook his head.

“Fuck, it’s not.”