The cryo chamber hissed open.

You step out, blinking against the harsh light, heart hammering. The corridors are silent except for the faint hum of life support.

And then you see him.

Monty. Older. Tired—but not broken. Lines carved into his face, hair streaked with gray.

But the eyes—the eyes are the same. Warm. Gentle. Hopeful.

“You…” you start, voice cracking.

He steps forward, voice quiet, steady. “You’re here,” he says. “Time didn’t take you. Not a second of it.”

Your chest tightens. Decades apart, yet in this moment, it feels as if no time has passed.

Monty reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. “I’ve waited. Every day. Every moment. For you.”

You feel tears welling—but they’re not just sadness. They’re relief, love, and a kind of peace you didn’t know you’d have.

“I never stopped thinking about you either,” you whisper.

He smiles, faint but radiant. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go again.”