The trees whispered like old ghosts.

Laura crouched low, eyes narrowed. The coordinates led her here—a dense forest off the coast, shrouded in mist, ancient with secrets. The others waited at the perimeter, but she’d insisted on going alone. She needed to know.

Was it true?

She caught the faintest trace in the dirt. Heavy boots, precise placement. Military-trained, but personal. Confident.

Familiar.

She followed it, heartbeat barely fluttering. She wasn’t nervous. Not really. But something coiled deep in her chest, a tension she hadn’t felt in years.

Then she saw him.

Leaning against a tree like he owned the whole damn forest.

Him.

Six years older, a little taller, hair longer, muscles heavier beneath a sleeveless black coat marked with a crude sigil over his heart. Not an "X." Not anymore.

He smirked when he saw her, slow and sharp like a blade drawn for show, not threat.

“Didn’t expect you to be the one they’d send,” he said, voice still that same smooth, low hum. “But I’m not complaining.”

Laura didn’t answer at first. She stepped into the clearing, slowly, eyes locked on him.

“You’re alive.”

“Well, obviously.”

“You look...”

“Devastatingly handsome? Unreasonably powerful? Emotionally unavailable but secretly longing for connection?”

A beat.

“I was going to say cocky. But sure. That works too.”

He laughed—a warm, amused sound, like a lighter flicking open. “Nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

Laura folded her arms. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was. Sort of. Then I got better.”

He pushed off the tree and walked toward her, that usual swagger in every step. Like the world bent around him, not the other way around.

“You left,” she said, more softly this time.

“You made me.”

“I didn’t think you'd—”

“Survive? Yeah. Neither did I. But turns out rage, trauma, and unresolved abandonment issues make for excellent survival fuel.”

Laura didn’t smile. Not exactly. But her lips twitched.

He stopped a foot from her, eyes scanning her face. “You look good. Polished. X-Men-branded. Still rockin’ the angry loner vibe though. I respect the consistency.”

“You haven’t changed much either.”

“Well, I lead a cult of genetically butchered mutants through the ruins of Weapon X and live in a bunker made from melted adamantium. So, you know. Personal growth.”

Her eyes softened. “I missed you.”

His expression faltered just a moment. Just enough.

“I know,” he said. “I was unforgettable.”

She stepped forward, close enough to smell the smoke still clinging to him. “You smell the same.”

“And you still steal my hoodies in my dreams.”

A silence. Then—

“I’ve got more,” he offered. “Hoodies. Trauma. Sliced-up childhood metaphors. If you’re staying.”

Laura nodded.

He turned, already walking. “Good. You always belonged with the broken things.”

She followed, heartbeat steady, claws retracted.

Maybe she was home.