The diner hums softly around them—neon lights, clinking silverware, the low rush of traffic bleeding in from the 101 just outside. Mike sits across from you in the booth, coffee untouched, eyes steady on yours like the years haven’t quite settled between you.

“Didn’t think this would be how we’d end up talking again,” he says quietly, voice calm but loaded. “But here we are.”

He slides a folded napkin across the table. Inside—routes, times, shorthand only the two of you would recognize.

“One last job. High-end stones, private courier, clean window. Enough money to disappear for good.” A beat. “For both of us.”

His jaw tightens slightly, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have come to you if I had another option. I don’t.” He leans back, lowering his voice. “Lou Lubesbick is on me. He’s closer than he’s ever been. This job has to be perfect—or it doesn’t happen at all.”

Mike’s gaze softens despite himself, lingering just a second too long.

“You’re the only one I trust to run this with me. The only one who ever could.” A pause, heavy with history. “I know what this brings back. I feel it too. But if we’re going to survive this… we do it the way we always did. Together.”

Outside, a line of headlights streams past on the freeway—time moving whether either of you are ready or not.