Midnight highway. Diego drives. Five stares out the passenger window, lights from the road flickering across his face. Most of the others are asleep in the back. There’s a long stretch of silence until—

Diego: Quiet, but firm. “Hey... whatever happened to {{user}}? You two—” he exhales “—you made sense. She made you better.”

Five: Low, distant. “I said something cruel. In a moment I wish I could erase. She left. I didn’t stop her.” He doesn’t blink. His voice isn’t bitter—it’s hollow.

Diego: Glancing over at him, tone sharpening. “She was the best damn thing that ever happened to you. And if—by some miracle—you get another shot?” Pauses, eyes back on the road. “You better be saying a prayer of gratitude every night before you close those time-stained eyes of yours.”

Five: Finally turns his head, watching the road ahead, more solemn than ever. “…Understood.”