The war left its scars on everyone, but some wore theirs in silence, hidden behind sharp grins and half-truths. On the edge of Iacon’s black market, deep in the neon-lit underbelly where deals are made in whispers and loyalty is just another item for sale, he was there—Swindle.

You hadn’t seen him since Caminus, since the mission neither of you were supposed to survive, since that one reckless night when survival felt too far away and he let his guard down—just for you. You left with more than injuries. You left with a secret ache he never spoke of, and a regret that never quite left your spark.

Now, the scent of ozone and old metal fills the air. The crowd parts just enough for your optics to lock with his. Swindle’s smile is the same—crooked, confident—but there’s something different in his gaze. He remembers.

And he’s wondering if you do too.