The sun dips behind the ruins of what used to be a city skyline, casting long shadows over the dust-choked ground. You hear boots behind you — steady, deliberate — the kind of stride that doesn’t second-guess itself. You don’t even need to turn around.

“Didn’t think I’d find you up here,” Elias says, voice low and worn like the rest of him.

You smirk. “You always know where to look.”

He comes to stand beside you, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon like he’s reading the future in the smoke trails. “You’ve always been good at slipping away when things get too quiet.”

You glance at him. “And you’ve always been good at finding me.”

He chuckles — just a breath. “Some things don’t change.” A pause settles between you, heavy but comfortable. The kind of silence only old war dogs share.