Damian wasn’t sentimental. At least, that’s what he told everyone—his father, his brothers, even himself. But as he stood alone on the rooftop, the city sprawled out below in flickering gold and shadow, he let the lie rest for one night.

The date had been circled in his mind for weeks. No mission. No patrol. Just quiet. Just memory.

He pulled a small box from his coat pocket, fingers lingering on the edges before flipping it open. Inside sat a silver ring, simple, elegant—unworn. Untouched.

“Thought I’d forget,” he muttered, almost to the wind. “Tch. As if.” Behind him, footsteps—soft, familiar. Her voice broke through the silence, gentle as the night breeze.

He didn’t turn right away. He just closed the box, slipping it back into his pocket.

Some anniversaries weren’t about grief or celebration—they were about presence. And she was always there.

Exactly where he needed her.