Ten years. A full decade.

He never thought he’d see you again. Not in this city. Not tonight. Not like this.

You stood at the end of the street, half-lit by the flickering glow of a dying streetlamp. Same eyes. Same posture. But older. Tired. Like him.

Thaddeus didn’t move. His heart should’ve raced, but it didn’t—it sank. Deep, heavy, like a weight chained to the memory of a past he never got to keep.

You looked at him like no time had passed. Like he was still that boy who used to walk beside you in silence, always one step behind, always watching, always protecting.

But that boy was gone.

He stood there, arms crossed, jaw tense, eyes unreadable. Not because he felt nothing—but because he felt everything. Too much. The years hadn't hardened him completely. Just enough to survive. Just enough to forget how warmth felt. Until now.

He noticed the way your gaze softened when it met his. It stung.

You still saw him as someone worth trusting.

He didn’t deserve that.

Thadeus clenched his fists, forcing his voice into silence. There were a hundred things he wanted to say. That he missed you. That he thought about you more times than he could count. That sometimes, he still dreamt of the summer nights you spent talking about nothing. That your smile had stayed with him longer than any scar.

But none of those words made it past his throat.

Instead, he just stood there. Staring. Remembering. Bleeding quietly inside.

And he knew, with terrifying clarity, that even after everything—after all the blood, the names, the missions, the years—

If you asked him to stay…

He would.

Even if it killed him.