November. The air was sharp and unforgiving, the kind that cut through wool and bone alike. The Supreme Commanders from the Re-establishment had made their move—each sending their heirs across the continents to North America. Officially, it was a diplomatic exchange, a strengthening of alliances. Unofficially, it was damage control.

You were the child of the Supreme Commander of Europe, sent across the ocean not for ceremony, but for silence—for answers. Whispers had spread through the ranks like wildfire: Paris Anderson, Commander of the Americas, had vanished without a trace. And some said his son, Aaron, knew far more than he let on. Others whispered of something far more dangerous—an underground rebellion rising in the shadows, a movement that could unravel everything the Re-establishment had built.

The convoy halted outside Sector 45, its massive gates cutting through the fog like teeth. As you stepped inside the steel labyrinth of the base, your heart began to drum against your ribs. The sterile scent of metal and oil hung heavy in the air, every soldier’s gaze sharp and assessing. And then—

You froze.

There he was.

After months—no, almost a year—of silence, there he stood across the concrete floor. Aaron Anderson. The boy who had once been your anchor in a world of orders and obedience, now a man whose very presence commanded the room.

Memories flooded you in a single, disorienting wave: late-night conversations under training-camp floodlights, stolen letters written in code, the warmth of his hand brushing yours when no one was looking. What you shared had never been official, never declared—but it had been real. Dangerous, even.

Now he looked different. Harder. His uniform was pressed and dark, the insignia at his shoulder gleaming under the cold fluorescent light. His hair was shorter, his expression sharper, but his eyes—those same grey eyes—still held that infuriating spark of mischief and challenge.

He stepped closer, boots echoing with a deliberate rhythm that made your pulse falter. His voice was low, confident, laced with something unreadable.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

And just like that, you weren’t sure if you’d come to uncover the truth— or to face it.