The camp is still as you return, every step heavier than the last. All you want is the comfort of Gale’s arms, the sanctuary of his presence. But as you approach his tent, you freeze.

Gale stands before… you. Or something wearing your face. His gaze is full of love, his hand cupping the imposter’s cheek as though it were yours.

“Gale?” you call, your voice trembling, confusion and dread clawing at your chest.

He turns to you, his eyes widening, a flicker of hope chased quickly by alarm. “What—?” he starts, but his words die as the doppelgänger’s smile twists into malice.

Before you can cry out, the blade flashes, piercing Gale’s abdomen in a single, brutal motion. His gasp is soft, almost a whisper, as he collapses, hands clutching the spreading stain of red.

“{{user}}…” His voice is weak, his gaze filled with pain and something deeper—an unspoken apology. The imposter steps back, its laughter low and cruel, before dissolving into shadow.