The storm rolling over the harbor felt like him—quiet, gathering, full of something waiting to break. He stood before the small house he’d once built with his own hands, back when he still had a name that meant something human. When laughter had filled these walls. When you had stood beside him and believed the world could still be kind.

The door wasn’t locked. It never was. The scent inside hit him first—salt, burning wood, and the faint trace of your tea. Everything was the same: the cracked vase, the worn rug, the warmth that still clung to this place.

You stood by the window, moonlight glinting against your skin. Power hummed beneath it—steady, poised, dangerous. You hadn’t changed, not where it mattered. He had. He didn’t wear the mask tonight; Amon stayed behind in the rain. It was Noatak who stepped through the door.

For a moment, words failed him. The air between you was thick with everything unsaid. You didn’t move, but your eyes betrayed the recognition—the shock, the anger, the memories of laughter that had once belonged to the three of you. He felt it too, sharp as a blade.

“I thought I could protect you by leaving,” he said finally, his voice low, almost reverent. “From me. From what I was becoming.” His gloved hand flexed, restless. “But all I did was turn myself into a ghost.”

You said nothing. You didn’t have to. The silence was an old language between you—one of loss, of understanding too deep for words.

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve built something,” he murmured. “Something that could change everything. The world that hurt us—it doesn’t have to stay this way.” A faint tremor entered his tone, the last flicker of the man you’d once known. “I need you.”

He hesitated, then added, softer, “I never stopped thinking about you… about her.” The admission hung in the air, raw and fragile.

For a heartbeat, the storm quieted. All that remained was him—Noatak, not the mask, not the revolution—just the man who had once loved you and still did.

He took one final step forward, voice low, coaxing, heavy with both conviction and longing.

“Come with me,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Let’s finish what we started.”