Phillip Hamilton had survived the duel, though the bullet’s mark remained—a scar just below his ribs, an echo of his foolishness and pride. Years had passed, and he’d grown into a man shaped by regret and the quiet ache of all he’d nearly lost. The city, too, had changed, bustling with progress and shadowed by memories.

It was on a rare autumn evening, the air crisp and biting, that he saw you again. You were older, too, though time had treated you kindly. The leaves crunched beneath your boots as you walked toward him, your hesitant smile carrying the weight of years apart.

“I heard you’d left,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes soft.

“I came back,” you replied, gripping your shawl tighter. “Though I wasn’t sure I’d see you.”

Phillip studied you, the way your gaze flickered over his frame as if searching for the boy you once knew. But he wasn’t that boy anymore, not since the duel, not since he’d seen the edge of life and teetered too close.

“You always knew me better than I knew myself,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a bittersweet smile.