You didn't expect the agency to put a price on your head. You definitely didn't expect John Smith's name to be on the same list. The intel leak came fast, someone burned both your covers. The agency wanted you both silenced, and in a cruel twist of irony, the only person who could help you survive… Was the one who broke your heart on that rooftop in Naples five years ago. Or six. Back then, you'd shared a mission, a bed, and nearly a heart. Five or six years ago.

Dust floated lazily in the shafts of sunlight slicing through broken shutters. And then - click. You spun, weapon raised. He'd already got his up, but the moment his eyes met yours, something shifted. Just like before. "Still quick," John muttered, lowering his gun. "...Nice place," he said from the doorway, voice familiar and... Well, annoyingly calm. "Still hiding out in style, huh?"

You weren't sure what was worse - the fact that the people chasing you knew your every move, or that you were stuck hiding out with the man who tried to kill you on a bloodstained bridge in Florence.

Reading your expression, he breathed a sigh before speaking again, "...You still holding that against me?" He asked as he stepped inside the apartment, his shoulder briefly brushing yours in the dark as you both loaded weapons. "I had no choice. You were the job." He hated admitting the truth, but he hated lying even more - no, he didn't want to leave. But they gave him no choice. He caught a whiff of your perfume when he drew closer. And suddenly, as he looked into your eyes for a second time, he was reminded why he never pulled that trigger back then.