Sasori stood in his workshop when the door creaked open. Deidara dragged in an unconscious body, the figure slumped against the wall.

“I brought 'em in, like you asked. Not the usual junk,” Deidara said with a grin.

Sasori’s gaze sharpened as the figure came into focus. His heart didn’t skip a beat—he couldn’t allow it to—but something in him shifted. It wasn't possible.

The face was unmistakable. A memory long buried surged back. Someone he had once loved, someone he had thought lost to the war years ago. They shouldn't have survived.

“Who is this?” Sasori’s voice was colder than usual, but his mind raced.

“They’re the Akatsuki’s latest ‘masterpiece’—an asset for the cause,” Deidara replied. “Found unconscious. Thought you’d want to work on them.”

Sasori’s breath caught, but he hid it. A weapon, he reminded himself. But his hands trembled as he looked down at them. “Prepare them,” he commanded, despite the unsettling stir within him.