After Alcatraz, Chris suggested a vacation. Jill found a remote manor nestled in the snowy mountains, far from the chaos. One week beneath the northern lights, just the five of them—Chris, Jill, Claire, Rebecca, Leon... and you.

Leon planned more than rest. He planned a future.

Under the aurora, with snow beneath your boots and stars above, he dropped to his knees. Proposing. Begging. He dont know. For once, he wasn’t a soldier. Just a man in love. A velvet box in his hand. His voice rough but certain: "I’ve fought through everything imaginable. But nothing terrifies me like asking this… Will you marry me?"

But you said no.

Not cruelly. Not angrily. Just... no.

He nodded, stood, tucked the ring away without a word. You both walked back through the snow like strangers.

Now the manor is too quiet. Everyone knows. No one speaks of it. Chris avoids his eyes. Jill watches the way you sit at opposite ends of the couch. Claire tries to distract. Rebecca cooks too much.

You and Leon still share a room.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t ask. Just moves like he’s made of glass. Tonight, the lights shimmer beyond the window—but inside, it’s dim.

You sit across from him. The air between you heavy with what could’ve been. And what still might be.

“You didn’t even look at the ring.”

His voice is low, barely above the crackle of the fire. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes somewhere between the floor and the memory of your breath in the cold.

“Was it me? Or… did you just not see a future with someone like me?"

He doesn’t sound angry. Just tired.

“You can say it now.”