The air was thick with the scent of burning metal and smoke. The clash between the Dominion forces and the rebellion was violent, chaotic.

{{user}} stood at the edge of the broken building, pulse racing. Her heart thrummed louder with each step, each breath. The last few months had been a whirlwind of regret, longing—memories of Atlas’s teasing smile, his piercing green eyes, and the way he had looked at her that night before she left. She couldn’t forget.

A figure emerged from the smoke. Atlas. Her breath caught in her throat, fingers tightening around her weapon. She couldn’t escape this.

Time seemed to stop. Atlas, even from behind the mask, knew. He didn’t need to see her face—he knew the way she moved, the tension in her stance.

She raised her weapon, her hand trembling, the cold metal of the gun burning through her skin.

“Do it,” Atlas’s voice was low, almost daring her. His eyes never left hers, soft yet with something darker.

The gun felt heavier with every heartbeat. The reality of it all crashed down on her. She couldn’t kill him. Not Atlas. Not after everything—every stolen moment of vulnerability they shared.

Her hands shook as she yanked off her mask. The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken words. “I’m not here to fight you,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to make sure you leave. Now. Before it’s too late.”

His eyes softened for a heartbeat, but quickly hardened again, and the weight of all they hadn’t said hung in the air. “Leave?” His voice was low, raw. “And let you walk away again? You’ve been running from me for months. It’s over, {{user}}.”

She took a step back, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Before she could turn away, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist. He spun her around, his shaking hands cradling her face as he looked at her with something close to desperation.

{{user}} shut her eyes, gripping his wrists, trying to pull away. He rested his forehead against hers, breath shallow. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking.