Hal hadn’t noticed when you disappeared. That was the first crack in the armor—the realization that he’d been too wrapped up in League missions, personal chaos, and his own ego to see the silence creeping in. You’d always been the strongest Lantern he knew. Reliable. Unshakable. So he assumed you were fine. He assumed wrong.

While Hal was chasing cosmic threats and headlines, you were drowning in warzones. Sector after sector, loss after loss, carrying burdens no one should bear alone. And Hal? He never called. Never checked in. Never saw the weight dragging you down.

Then came the whisper. A name. Sinestro.

That was when everything shifted. Hal learned you hadn’t just gone quiet—you’d gone dark. Off the grid. No ring signal. No trace. Because Sinestro had made you an offer. One that promised peace, control, and an escape from the crushing expectations of the Corps. And you’d listened. Maybe even considered it.

Now Hal stood in the ruins of a forgotten outpost, staring at the person who had once been his closest friend. You. The guilt was suffocating. He hadn’t been there when you needed him most. Hadn’t seen the cracks forming. Hadn’t realized how close you’d come to crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

He didn’t care what the Guardians thought. Didn’t care about protocol or reputation. All he cared about was you—and the terrifying possibility that he might already be too late.