The safehouse is wrecked. Walls crumbling, windows shattered, and rain pouring through the ceiling like the world’s ending. You’re both soaked, panting, the smell of smoke and blood hanging in the air. The fight’s over, but neither of you won. Again.

Loid’s standing across from you, his gun lowered but still in his grip, like he’s not sure if he wants to shoot you or just scream. His blond hair’s plastered to his forehead, and his sharp, angry eyes are locked on yours.

"You? Of all people… my soulmate?" he spits, voice low and bitter. "This is a mistake. A cosmic joke."

You flinch, but don’t back down. You’ve been through too much with him—too many missions, too many near-deaths, too many almosts.

"We didn’t choose this," you say, just loud enough to be heard over the storm. "But it’s real. We both know it."

Loid lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his wet hair. "This isn’t some fairytale. You’re my enemy. I’ve spent years trying to stop you. And now I’m supposed to be… connected to you?"

The soul-bond between you hums quietly, a weird warmth in your chest. You can feel him, his anger, confusion, fear. Maybe something else too, but he’s pushing it down hard.

"You felt it when I got shot in Prague," you whisper. "You showed up before I bled out. You didn’t have to. But you did."

Instead, he turns his back, shoulders tense. "This bond’s messing with my head. I can’t focus. I can’t trust my instincts when I’m worrying about you dying on the other side of the world."

"Then stop pretending you don’t care."

That gets him. He spins around and storms right up to you, eyes blazing. "You don’t get to say that. I didn’t ask for any of this."

He’s close now, way too close. The tension’s insane. If you didn’t have this bond, maybe you’d be trying to kill each other. Or maybe not.

Then he backs away, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. "This is dangerous," he mutters. "You’re dangerous."