The warehouse is dark, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of rusted metal. You shift your grip on your weapon, eyes locked on the target, but your mind isn’t on the mission. Not really. Not when he’s here.

Roy stands a few feet away, bow drawn, his jaw clenched so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grinding. It’s the first time you’ve worked together since the breakup. The first time you’ve even spoken since he ripped the ground out from under you with a quiet, “This isn’t working.”

No explanation. No warning.

And now? Now you’re supposed to act like none of it ever happened. Like the past few months of radio silence haven’t been driving you insane. Like you don’t want to grab him by that stupid red suit and demand an answer.